


D'Ancanto

by xenokattz



Series: D'Ancanto [1]
Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Cast of dozens, GQBAMF in a line behind me bitches, Gen, Old enough to remember Charlotte Jones, Samuel L Jackson-level strong language & also violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 49,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenokattz/pseuds/xenokattz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <div class="center">
<br/><img/></div><br/><p>Drugs. Multi-state gangs. Mutant-killing virus. Civil unrest. Plot to assassinate a racist senator. Just another Tuesday for Marie D'Ancanto, NYPD detective in the country's first Mutant Crimes Task Force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be for Femgenficathon 2010. My prompt was _Wherever fate demands me...I will go. -- Gertrudis Gómez de Avellaneda y Arteaga (1814-1873), 19th-century Cuban author._ A frillion also thanks to Percy who beta'd this monstrosity not only for (very many) spelling  & punctuation errors but also for plot holes, dangling subplots and accurate characterisation.

_Your flesh moves under my fingers_

_and I remember flesh and fingers, as a child holding  
the head of a flashlight cupped in my fist  
in a dark room, seeing with such delight  
the outlines of my own hand's  
lucent skeleton, swathed in the red glow  
of the blood clouded within_

_and this is how I hold  
you: not as body  
as in planetary,  
as in thing, bulk, object  
but as a quickening_

_a disturbance of the various  
darknesses within my arms  
like an eddy in the moonlit  
lake where a fish moves unseen._

_We rot inside, the doctor  
said. To put a hand on another  
is to touch death,  
no doubt. The there is also_

_this nebulous mist of interstellar  
dust snagged by the gravity  
of a few bones, mine,  
but luminous;_

_even in the deep subarctic  
of space beyond meaning, even among  
the never alive, to approach  
is to shine._

_I hold you as I hold  
water, swimming._

_~ "The skeleton, not as an image of death" by Margaret Atwood_

* * *

Fires from Chelsea blew windows off buildings in Greenwich Village. Charlotte grabbed the door handle as Marie ripped the squad car through traffic.

"Girl, I am fucking writing you up for-- we were up on two wheels!" Charlotte bellowed.

"We got here faster than the firefighters," said Marie. 

"Fat lot that's going to do when I left my stomach up in Carnegie, good _night_ , woman, watch the goddamn--argh!" Charlotte covered her eyes. "Just let me know when we're in hell."

"Thought you told me Hell was Times Square."

Flames licked around the corner of the intersection. Windows warped, some falling out of their frames. Marie slammed both feet on the brakes, shoved the door open and crouched behind it for cover. "We're here. I'm taking point."

Charlotte glared at her as she took the same position. "I'm not kidding, D'Ancanto. As the senior partner, I have a duty to report insanity. Where'd you learn to drive?"

"With good ol' boys in back country roads."

"You still in touch with them?"

"Not really."

"Good. 'Cause I'm calling the Marshals on them. Dispatch, this is MacTac-2, did you copy the 10-70? 'Cause it's a big, damn seventy."

"10-4, MacTac, emergency logged," said the frustratingly calm voice on the radio.

Marie glared at it. "Well, is there anything being done? Y'know, _before_ Manhattan gets burned to the ground?"

"All units are occupied. Please wait for back-up."

"We _are_ the back-up." Marie groaned, "Dispatch, please at least tell me the New York's Bravest are on the case."

"The fire department is en route, ma'am."

"They're driving around just as crazy as you taking those fires out," said Charlotte.

Marie leaned forward only far enough to say, "You are so jealous of my skills, Jones."

"A likely story. Hey, looks like the leather cavalry's here."

"They've been here a while." Marie pointed to the evidence. Ice pillars held buildings upright. A pile of bent cars formed a barrier in an alley. Triple claw-marks gouged the asphalt beside bubbling heaps of the same material.

"Keep waiting for back-up, D'Ancanto. Something this big, we gotta go by the book."

"Shouldn't we at least go for the bystanders?"

Charlotte shook her head. "I see you step out of this car, I'm suspending you for a week. The landscape is don't get dead."

Marie pressed her lips into a thin line but nodded. Heavy, dark rain clouds crept east to the worst of the fires. Storm. Although the rain did little to stop the fires, it at least prevented them from spreading. Fortunately, September in New York City meant lots of humidity for Storm and Iceman's powers to draw from. Marie counted at least five other uniformed X-Men surrounding the area which likely meant another five were out of sight. There were a lot of them these days, the mutant community's open secret. She knew less than half by name. One of the new ones dropped in front of her, all gangly legs and eagerness.

"Hi, I'm Cannonball. Wolverine told me to tell you to leave Pyro to us and worry about the bystanders."

"You hear that, Detective Jones?" Marie called out.

"Loud and," said Charlotte. "Back-up's en route but he's making the trip hard. Any way you can clear the road for the EMTs and FDs?"

Cannonball looked pleased to be of service. "Um. Sure, I guess. Which way are they coming?"

Charlotte took a few seconds to confer with dispatch. "Broadway's insane right now but it's Dyer that's shut right down. Anything you can free up from the business district's great, too."

"Passing that on. Thanks ma'am, Miz Rogue." He ran a few yards then turned into some sort of jet-propulsion system from the waist down, rocketing up into the clouds presumably to pass the message on.

"Huh," said Charlotte. "I guess that's one way to avoid traffic."

"Gotta be hell on his uniform though," said Marie.

"You ever gonna tell me why they call you Rogue?"

"It'd take a whole flat of Jack Daniels and a Joseph Gordon-Levitt marathon to tell you all about my misspent youth." She peeked over around the door and just about singed her eyelashes off. Pyro's fires were intensifying; she felt the heat through the car door. A glance to her left showed Charlotte crouching forward. "It's getting unfriendly here, bosslady."

Charlotte pointed to a van turned on its side a dozen yards to their west. Marie nodded and dove across the front seats to Charlotte's side. At the count of three, Charlotte sprinted to the van while Marie provided cover. A scraggly crowd seemed to have the same idea, running in panicked zig-zags to the nearest cover. The movement must have attracted Pyro's attention because Marie heard the growl of fire on the move echoed by a very human scream. Her jaw clenched. 

_Johnny_

A fiery rope darted forward to cut her off from the van. Marie leapt back in time to keep from roasting but her pant leg caught a spark. She slapped at the smouldering cloth. 

"Dammit, Johnny!" Pyro was only a year older than her, still shy of thirty, but wild acts like this were way too immature. She was pissed off at him, pissed off that she knew him, and pissed off that nothing anyone said changed his fool mind about the Brotherhood. Now her pants were scorched and she'd have to patch it up because the next three paycheques would have to go to the exploded plumbing in her apartment instead of food and clothes. "God _damn_ it, Johnny!"

"Die! Die! Die!" Pyro's voice rose over Storm's thunder and the wails of the sirens, over the screaming victims and the fire itself. "Die!"

Oily tracks along the gutters created low barriers of fire. People inside buildings hesitated to cross the streets; people leaving their cars didn't want to jump into the sidewalks. Everyone headed for the closest avenue of escape which meant the emergency personnel couldn't get through the same way. On the other side of Marie's squad car, a man tried to crawl to from the worst of the pandemonium. The panicked mob didn't stop for him. Marie flicked the safety back on her piece and went around the car. 

Up in the air, Storm pleaded with her former student. "John, you must stop this!"

"That's not my real name."

"Pyro," she said gently. "Pyro, please you're hurting yourself. These fires are too hot even for you to control."

"I don't care." Louder, more brokenly, he repeated, "I don't care! I'm already dead."

The crawling man was now reduced to covering his head. The mob trampled on. Marie breathed deep and ran into the melee. Arms and legs buffeted her on all sides, and she reminded herself that they had every right to be this afraid but dammit, they were making things worse. All it would take for a death count was one person to trip over that man.

Then, because she jinxed the world, someone did trip. The centre of the mob collapsed like a madman's domino maze. The movement caught Pyro's attention. From this distance, she couldn't see his face but Marie somehow knew his expression had changed.

"Iceman!" she yelled. Instead Kitty dropped beside her which only showed the desperation of the situation: she lived a civilian life, too. Kitty solidified just long enough to grab one of the people in the dogpile then phased again. Because everyone in the piled touched, the whole bunch of them also went insubstantial. Kitty then plucked out one person at a time and handed them to Marie who helped them get to safer ground.

"I'm keeping the injured phased," said Kitty.

Marie nodded. That would keep them from getting hurt more. "Why isn't anyone taking Pyro down?"

"We're trying" Kitty said. "Everything we throw at him melts. The temperature around him is ridiculous."

"What about Wolverine?"

Kitty pursed her lips. "You smell barbeque?"

"Yeah but what--"

"That's eau de Fighting Wolvie."

"Nice."

Storm's rain turned torrential. The fires still raged but by now several fire trucks and squad cars blocked the intersections. Two or three blocks past them, ambulances lined up to care for the injured. One of the EMTs had paired up with another new kid who seemed to have healing powers. Every once in a while, the EMT pointed out a person for the kid to touch. 

"What's the plan?" Marie asked.

"We're in the process of putting together a Plan D," admitted Kitty.

"Dammit."

"Pretty much."

Her walkie crackled. "D'Ancanto, tell me you're standing," said Charlotte.

"I'm good, Jones. You?"

"Peachy. There's five of us behind this van and I need eyes before we make a run for it."

"I've got this under control, Rogue," said Kitty, gesturing to the mob.

"Marie," Marie corrected. As she ran for the van, she opened up the scanner for info. "This is D'Ancanto, MacTac-2. My partner's hunkered down with five people on East Twenty-Third between Madison and Park Avenue. Suspect is in visual range, repeat, suspect is in visual range. Requesting further orders, over."

The radio replied, "MacTac-2, this is Captain Chu. I need you to clear the area. We have a plan in place and you may get caught in the crossfire."

"What about my partner?"

"Is she in a safe position?"

Marie chuckled. "Sir, nowhere's a safe position right now except maybe Niagara County."

"Fair enough. Just get your ass out of there in under seven minutes. No heroics, y'hear?"

"Loud and, sir." 

Marie stole across the length of the squad car, keeping Pyro's wavering silhouette in sight. The locked cage in the trunk held her Remington 700, her baby on the range but a weapon she'd hoped to never use on the field. She popped half a box of cartridges in her belt pouch. As she did so, her fingers brushed a pair of adamantium jacket hollow points hidden in her slacks. Storm and Iceman were throwing everything they could at Pyro but he burned too hard. Wolverine must be in there, too; the sour-sulphur-sweet-metal smell drifted towards her hiding place. She'd never smelled burning human flesh until today but it couldn't be anything else. Battered by the heat convection winds, helicopters uselessly bobbed overhead. A couple of them looked like helitacks; sure enough one dumped flame retardant several blocks over. None of them could get anywhere near Pyro. Marie moved the hollow points to her belt.

With Pyro distracted, she made a run for the Charlotte's van and slid beside the group in a classic base-stealing move. "Hey there, partner."

Charlotte glared but Marie knew she didn't totally mean it. "All right people, we're going to evacuate in an orderly manner. If you don't do like we do, we can't protect you properly. D'Ancanto over there is a crackshot; she'll be providing back cover. I'll lead the way. Remember: do like I do _exactly_ and we'll be fine."

"What if we get burned?" a man cried out.

"That won't happen." Charlotte sent Marie a look that said, "Don't make a liar out of me," as she pulled her piece out of her holster.

Marie did the same. "On your three, bosslady."

Charlotte's "three" followed a staccato of gunfire. With abandoned cars parked in a semi-straight line, they had plenty of cover. Even so, Marie had to push two of the people out from behind the van to get them to move even as she looked frantically around for falling debris and ricocheting bullets. In the rooftop across the street, she spotted a sniper taking position. SWAT was out, which was kind of expected but it didn't seem enough.

She pressed on her radio. "D'Ancanto, MacTac-2 again, sir. Just out of curiosity, what exactly is the plan?"

"SWAT, snipers, and the National Guard," said Captain Chu.

"With all due respect, sir, he's melting rebar by farting in its general direction. I don't think the snipers are going to do much damage."

"When you've got a better idea, let me know. Until then get the hell out of there."

Irritated, Marie slapped her radio off. More SWAT had come out of the woodworks and were waving them over. She kept her eyes and hand gun trained back at Pyro. A few feet from the SWAT van barricade, a shout cut short. Seconds later, Iceman flew, limp-limbed, out of the inferno. A pink girl-- Marie thought her call-sign was Blink--threw a pink blob up in the air which swallowed Iceman up. The blob reappeared near the ground, bringing Iceman with it. He crumpled on the street, breathing hard, his fleshform showing in bits and water dripping off his shoulders.

"D'Ancanto, come on!" shouted Charlotte.

Marie looked over her shoulder. There was her partner, looking worried as always, like moms always tended to be. There was Iceman, his woefully young-looking pink sidekick, and Storm doing not much of anything. And there were the adamantium jackets in her pocket along with her one hundred forty-six hours clocked on the range. 

She reholstered her piece and ran for Bobby to the sound of Charlotte hollering her lungs out. She was so going to get suspended for this and right on the month when her bike needed some good loving. Plus the whole exploded plumbing thing.

"You know what Wolvie would do to you if he found you sleeping on the job, Popsicle?"

Iceman moaned. Water pooled at his knees and elbows. "Don't even joke about that. I get him?"

"Well, you might've given him the flu."

"Fuck. I was hoping to kill the temp around him. Drain the heat."

"Like his fireballs back in school."

He almost smiled. "Gimme a minute to catch my breath."

"Let's see if me and my baby can buy you more." Marie patted the Remington.

"He's turned half of Midtown into ash, Marie. You can't go there."

"I didn't say I could stop him; just stall him a bit. I'm gonna need one of these." She pulled the commlink out of his ear.

"Marie!"

But she was already up and running. She didn't want or need to get up high; by her estimates, there'd be too much wind to get a good shot in. A second or third floor window would do just as well as anywhere higher. There was one to her right that didn't look too scorched and most of the windows had tiny balconies where she could get a good shot in. Marie took a running start and leapt for the fire escape, easily catching hold of the rungs. With a good swing, she was up and over, climbing up the rest of the way. She wrenched a half-open window nearly out of its sash and made her way around the apartment until she found one of those half-balconies.

"This is D'Ancanto, MacTac-2, speaking to the X-Men, over."

"Rogue?" Storm said, "What on Earth are you doing?"

"Helping out a bit. You think you can herd Pyro past Madison Square Park, closer to central Chelsea?"

Wolverine's voice came over the waves next. "What's going on in your head, Marie?"

"I'm a sniper," she lied.

"I most _certainly_ will not--" Storm began but Wolverine interrupted.

"Are you any good?"

"Come on, Wolvie. Like you'd associate with sucky snipers."

"Wolverine." That was all Storm had to say. She could put whole wikis into one word.

With a sigh, Wolverine said, "Storm, do you even want to _estimate_ the casualties and the property damage Johnny's done? He's not your student any more. I'm sorry."

Silence held the commlink for the longest five seconds Marie had experienced since she waited for that Novomane shot ten years ago. "Very well. But I cannot be complicit in this."

"Fine. You head the safety crew. Blink?"

"Sir?" came the girl's voice.

"Grab my commlink and give it to Iceman. He's going to need it. Then report to Storm."

"Yessir."

Marie popped the standard cartridges out of the rifle, replacing them with the adamantium ones. She MacGyvered a mount using an up-ended flowerpot then trained the muzzle towards the tallest of the flames. Then she lay flat on the grilled floor for an experimental look down the barrel through the iron sights. It wasn't ideal but it would have to do. "I'm in position."

"What position? MacTac, is that you?" her police radio crackled out. Whoops. Captain Chu was still on.

"Sorry, sir. Didn't know my key was open." She locked the radio and pulled it off her collar. "As we were, X-Men."

"We're driving him your way," said Iceman. "Gonna try to cool down the periphery, too. Hope you've got a coat."

"I'll handle it." Marie peered down the sights. She immediately teared up. The centre was white hot, almost like looking at the sun. Multicoloured spots danced in her vision when she glanced away. Fuck. That was unexpected. "I'm going to be a bother again and ask if anyone there has a good pair of shades I can borrow."

"I'm on it, ma'am." Cannonball appeared quickly after his drawl snapped through the commlinks. He pulled his goggles off and gave them to her. "These'll do?"

"They're great, thanks. I'll give them back when this is over, 'kay, sugar?"

He blushed, nodded and zoomed away.

She still teared up looking straight at Pyro but at least she could keep him in sight longer. Marie shut her eyes. She had to save it for go-time and trust the X-Men to do their job. "Let me know when he's within two hundred feet, repeat, two hundred feet."

"I heard you the first time," Wolverine grunted. "Give us a couple more minutes."

The air chilled. To the north, the buildings took on a lighter shade. Frost, Marie realised. Bobby was doing his job. Further back, more to the east, Storm's clouds poured rain over the city, quenching the fires best she could. She smelled sulphur; that was either Nightcrawler 'porting people away or just plain old industrial waste. She preferred to believe the former. The column of flame loped closer.

"Fuck you!" she heard Pyro yell. "I'll get you. I'll fucking get you! You left us, you fucking-- you left! I believed you!"

"Close enough?" Bobby asked, audibly panting.

Marie checked. "Another seventy-five feet if we're going to make it count."

A pained, bellowed "No!" erupted out of the column at the same time a cone of fire did. Marie rolled back, gasping as the iron grates of the balcony went red with heat.

"What the heck was that?!" she yelled.

"We're losing control," said Bobby. "Take your shot!"

"I can't yet! He's too far!"

"We can't--" Bobby seemed to choke then Wolverine dove out of the conflagration, more skeleton than human. "Marie, take the shot!"

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." She reassembled her mount, hands shaking. This was a bad idea. This was one of the worst ideas she'd ever had, and Lord help her, the list went a mile long. She took a moment to wipe the sweat out from her goggles then shifted into position. 

There, between her sights, the glowing white centre of Pyro's main fire. And then there, in the middle, shifting through the heat waves, was Pyro's silhouette.

"Marie!"

"Just a second."

"Marie, we don't have--" Bobby's swallowed groan of pain was more chilling than any scream.

He was getting closer. His silhouette wavered in the heat waves. Marie didn't dare blink.

"Take the damn shot, Marie," Kitty shouted, sobbed.

"Hold on."

"Marie!"

The waves parted. Marie pulled the trigger.

* * *

NYPD's Mutant Crimes Task Force-- MacTac for cute-- just barely operated out of the 28th Precinct but, much to the Deputy Inspector's chagrin, didn't actually answer to the 28th. No one exactly held a bidding war to house the country's first mutant crimes unit but after the president's vociferous backing of mutants after the Alcatraz Attack, the mayor of New York had a sycophantic spasm and offered a burned-out shell of a brownstone at the border of the Mount Morris Historic District and Spanish Harlem as a site for this "ground-breaking" police force. She didn't bother to ask the residents of the neighbourhoods about it; they reminded the task force of this at least once a week. But at least they did it teasingly now. Mostly.

Still soot-stained eighteen hours later, Marie took a healthy chug of her coffee and wished for the meeting to end. She didn't need to look at more pictures of Johnny's chest blown off. She already knew she'd never forget the smell.

"The link between the drug, ziff, and what the media is calling Alcatraz Legacy Disease or ALD, is obvious" said Captain Harper. "As such, the joint bureau chiefs have agreed that concentrating on removing ziff from our streets is priority number one for--"

Marie raised her hand. Charlotte kicked her leg but she ignored her. "Sorry, I must still be smoke woozy but I don't get what ALD and ziff have to do with each other."

"He showed it five slides ago," said Zeigler, his nictitating membranes half-drawn in boredom. 

"And another two slides before that," said Ziegler's partner, Henshaw. "It was colour-coded and animated. I was on the edge of my seat."

The captain cleared his throat. "Considering you should be at home on sick leave, D'Ancanto, I'll let this one pass. Don't let me catch you snoozing again."

"Much appreciated, Captain," Marie drawled.

Captain Harper flicked back to the animated, colour-coded slide to a chorus of groans. Charlotte leaned over and whispered, "Why didn't you keep your mouth shut? I have to pick Tim up from my mom's."

"I just wanted to know," said Marie.

"He'll put it up on the intranet anyway."

"Ziff, also known as Mutant Growth Hormone, Sweet Maggie, and banshees. As you can see," Captain Harper pointed to a chart, "there's a direct correlation between the rise in ziff use and the cases of ALD--"

"Correlation ain't causation," Marie pointed out.

"Yeah, what about that study saying it's only mutants who took the Novomane that're getting ALD?" someone in the back called out. Marie felt the combined effort of the entire room as they tried not to stare at her. She kept her back straight and her attention on the Captain.

"What about the one that says it also affects mutants who don't?" Charlotte shot back.

"Hey, I'm just saying it can't be healthy to mess with your genes like that. Who knows what kind of shit they put in the Novomane to cripple us." Marie recognized the speaker now. A mutant named Everett Thomas whose aura could duplicate powers and track mutants by sensing those powers. He didn't have to touch anyone to do that; his aura did it for him. Lucky dick.

Charlotte and a couple others started to stand but the Captain waved them down. "There's time for that later. Right now this meeting is about ziff, it's about a war of drugs and it's about stopping the spread of a disease that we all have a stake in whether you're pro-Novomane or not. Got it?"

Everett leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and said nothing more.

"Now, to get back to D'Ancanto's point, I'm not saying ziff causes ALD," he said. "I'm saying there's a relationship. Considering ziff is already an illegal drug and the media panic machine's already working on the rise of baseline ziff usage, cracking down on it will probably kill ten birds with one stone. The whys can't be our headache right now; let's focus on the hows."

{{Betcha that's the new catchphrase from PR,}} Charlotte texted.

Marie repressed a grin. {{You're 12.}}

{{Bitch, I have a grown son. I'm at least 17 mentally.}}

She snickered then coughed to hide it. The act wasn't difficult; her throat still hurt from the fires. Fortunately, the captain took that as a sign to wind things down. "Let's continue this meeting in a couple days. It's been a long damn shift and we all deserve to get some rest."

Henshaw let out an exuberant "Amen!" amidst the cheers and everyone began to shuffle out of their chairs. Then the captain raised his hands.

"I forgot one more thing!"

Marie joined the chorus of groans.

"D'Ancanto, get over here."

Puzzled, Marie made her way to the front just as the doors opened. Ziegler re-entered carrying a brightly coloured box from the Cuban restaurant across the street. He made a beeline for her while the rest of the officers clapped.

"What's this?" Marie demanded. "Jones, what the hell?"

Charlotte held her hands up. "Don't look at me, partner. My only contribution was telling them you'd give up your sainted grandma for a slice of tres leches."

Captain Harper patted her shoulder. "You did good, D'Ancanto. Your shot turned the tide yesterday, so much so that I'm going out on a limb pissing off PR to keep your part in it a secret. But, dammit, we all know what you did and we want to congratulate you not because--" the cheers become more raucous and Harper put his hands up to beg for a bit more attention-- "not because you had to take a life. We all know any idiot can pull a trigger. We congratulate you because you made that hard decision and, in doing so, you saved countless lives. For that, you deserve cake."

The last thing Marie thought she deserved was cake but the captain's cheesy speech actually made everyone happy so she stretched her mouth out into a smile and cut the damn tres leches. Sensing something off, Charlotte chased people away with as much good humour as possible, allowing Marie to escape that much sooner. Not that she escaped alone. Charlotte was at her heels as soon as she left the locker rooms.

"Hey! Come with me to Momma's. She's going to want to tear into me for leaving Timmy there so long and I need to manipulate her sense of propriety."

Marie shook her head. "Char, I'm beat, girl--"

"So take a load off at my mom's. C'mon, what're you going to do once you get home anyway? Grab take-out and wallow? At least at my place, you're guaranteed homemade lasagne or maybe even zhaliang 'cause it's Timmy's favourite and Momma denies him nothing."

Despite having eaten cake, Marie's stomach rumbled. Charlotte's mom specialised in all noodley dishes and she really was just going to grab take-out. "Nah, I mean to wallow good and hard tonight," she said finally. "Just bring me leftovers tomorrow."

"Leftovers, ha! You remember how much fourteen year old boys eat?" Now caught up to her, Charlotte bumped Marie's hip with her bag. "What's bothering you, partner?"

"Aside from the fact that we've been on duty for fifty-two hours straight, half of Manhattan got burned down, news polls are on the down-swing for mutants, I've got to patch up my uniform again, and we're on District X duty indefinitely?"

"Aside from those very minor details."

Marie ran a hand through her hair. "I went to high school with him," she said, her voice pitched low.

Charlotte's expression didn't change but she did blink five times real quick. "Huh."

"Not just... he was my friend. Mainly my boyfriend's friend but mine, too. We were the three amigos, y'know? Me, Johnny and Bobby. I haven't seen him face-to-face since... gawd, probably since I was seventeen and even though I knew he'd gone down the wrong track, I never expected to..." She ended her tirade on a frustrated sigh. "I shot him. Ten years not seeing one of the best friends I ever had and I shot him. And I was so damn _proud_ that I shot him. Isn't that fucking sick?"

"No one should do that. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. I just... I was hoping I wouldn't have to I guess. I mean, the X-Men were there."

"Doing rescue duty," said Charlotte.

"They train to maintain life. That's what it says in the brochure, right?"

"Girl, they wear light armour and drive a decommissioned military jet. Whatever they might say about maintaining life, they're suited up to beat it nearly out of your body." Charlotte hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. "It's not supposed to be easy. Frankly, if you don't feel like utter shit after shooting someone, I'll arrest you myself. But to have to do that to someone you know, that is the ultimate shitfuck. I'm sorry you had to do that."

Marie shrugged.

"You talk to psych about it?"

"Like I've had time in the back-to-back-to-back-to-back shifts."

"Right. More like this is one of those mutants-only things," said Charlotte.

"What are you talking about?"

Charlotte shrugged this time. "It's not a bad thing. Everyone-- every culture's got something. Kind of like what Chinese people order in restaurants isn't on the menu and how the way black folk talk about white folk when they're by themselves is different. There's just stuff you know because you're a mutant and you know the rules about the community."

"Like what?"

"Like the identities of the X-Men."

Marie barely stopped from twitching.

"Don't worry," said Charlotte. "You've never given anything away. But they don't cover their faces and still no one knows who they are. Say what you will about baseline-mutant co-operation but at least half the guys over the MacTac talk about them like they know them--"

"They wish they knew them," Marie corrected.

"They know something. Which is a heckuvalot more than what the rest of us basies have. It's cool; I know why you do it."

Marie felt the inexplicable urge to apologize but she didn't know what for. "It's not a mutant-only thing," she said instead but before she could elaborate, someone walked into her, making her trip forward. It was Everett and four other mutant police officers. Marie didn't know many of them too well.

"Excuse me," she said sarcastically. "I didn't mean to take up the whole width of the sidewalk."

Everett snorted. "Whatever, flattie."

Marie gritted her teeth. She dropped her bag, ignoring Charlotte's warnings. "Look me in the face and call me that again."

Everett and friends did a slow turn. "What're you gonna do about it? Oh right. Nothing. You can't. You 'cured' yourself."

Charlotte grabbed her arm. "Marie, let it go."

"Oooh, the flattie's angry!" said one of Everett's cronies. Another one piped up, "Maybe she'll shoot us, too! She's good at killing mutants."

Her vision went red. She could feel her whole body shaking but couldn't move. If she had Scott Summers' powers Everett Thomas would be in a thousand different pieces all over the Hudson River.

"I'm reporting your ass, Thomas," said Charlotte.

"I have nothing against you, Detective," Everett said. "You're a sister and you're true to yourself. Her, she killed her gift then has the gall to still call herself a mutant. I don't respect that. I can't."

"And I suppose you were never an idiot as a teenager?"

Everett and his friends rolled their eyes. A couple muttered about a mother's lecture.

"Do you know what my gift was?" Marie blurted out. "Any time I touched people, I'd suck up their life and their powers. If I touched anyone for longer than five minutes, chances are they'd be in a coma. Longer than ten, they were dead. But that's not the funnest part. The funnest part was that they'd go on living inside my head. All of them. Forty-seven last count, all talking at me in my head, half of them pissed off 'cause I had no business robbing their souls. So yeah, I took Novomane. I killed my gift. But I fucking dare you to tell me you wouldn't do the same."

Although his expression softened, Everett said, "Our gifts are what makes us mutants."

"Okay, people, it's way too late in the day to get into philosophical arguments," said Charlotte. "Guys, good-bye. D'Ancanto, we have a train to catch. You are definitely coming over for dinner," she added for Marie's sake.

Marie shook her head. "It's all right, Jones. I'm going home."

"You're not going to do something stupid about this like kill yourself? Because if you are, I can stay over and watch the movie with you." Charlotte's tone was light but the concern was sincere.

Marie bumped her with her own bulky sports bag. "And out myself as a John Hughes fan to the woman writing my evals? Hell no! It's my not-so-distant emo-goth thing. I want to work it out for myself over a nice gewürztraminer and a movie."

"Whatever you say," said Charlotte. "Just remember, Mayor Hot-as-Heaven is coming over tomorrow and I need you to be my wingman."

"Mayor Hot-- oh, you mean Warren Worthington?"

"The Third. Don't you laugh. His dad might be an unethical douchebag but he's damn easy on the eyes. And those wings..." Charlotte pressed her lips together. "Mmm-hmmm."

"Normal people crush on rock stars or actors. You like politicians," Marie teased.

"Not all politicians, just the mayor of the fine city of Boston with the pretty, pretty wings."

"You are so Stifler's mom." They found themselves at the closes subway station, their usual point of departure. Rogue would take the 7th Avenue down to Brooklyn while Charlotte went up the 7th then switched over to the Lexington into Queens. "I'll be over tomorrow if only to protect Warren Worthington III's virtue."

"You do that." Without warning, Charlotte reached over to give Marie a quick, tight embrace. "Watch yourself, 'kay?"

Marie nodded stiffly and tried to return the embrace. Even after ten years of living without her powers, she felt uncomfortable with touching. Funny how one year could change your entire life. She went down one platform, Charlotte, another and they lost sight of each other in the surging mass of commuters. The air down here blew muggier than aboveground; the fans installed a couple years ago just swirled the humidity around. Marie hunched over, pulling her body in as small a package as possible. Again with the touch-phobia.

The mind-numbing subway commute back to her apartment almost took an hour which wasn't bad considering the debris still littering the roads of Manhattan. Not many people trusted the subway's integrity either, she guessed. She passed by her usual pizza place to put in an order then went down the road to the liquor store to buy wine while her dinner baked. Thus laden, she all but pulled herself up five flights to stairs to her apartment. Her exhaustion slammed into her like a Hummer. Her eyelids wanted to weld shut. Even the idea of spinach pizza and nice, cold wine wouldn't keep her out of bed now. As soon as she entered her place, Marie dropped dinner on the kitchen counter and made for her bedroom. 

A flint-click and spark caught from her left caught her attention. Marie drew her handgun out and pointed. "Freeze and drop, asshole. I've had a long day."


	2. Chapter 2

Tobacco smoke swirled in the air. The shadows moved, reluctantly releasing the form of a man in a short-brimmed fedora and trenchcoat. He was middle-aged or lived rough enough to age him prematurely. A cigarillo dangled from the corner of his mouth. 

"You Rogue?"

"Hands where I can see them. Slowly," Marie said.

He raised his hands over his head. "You gotta be. They told me you were cute."

Marie rolled her eyes and flicked her phone open. "Dispatch, this is Detective D'Ancanto from MacTac. I have an intruder in my apartment."

"I want to hire you," Trenchcoat man persisted.

Over the phone, the operator replied, "10-4, Detective. Do you require back-up?"

"I'm fine for now but he may require an ambulance in the near future. I'm either going to shoot him or throw him out the window. It depends on which kind of splat I feel like hearing."

"And you don't got a problem about killing, so you're perfect and I don't just mean your body. You're, what, 36D-26-34?"

Marie narrowed her eyes, pulling a set of flexicuffs from her bag. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used as an excuse for me to beat your head in and will be used in court against you as an added insult. Also, ew. You're old enough to be my dad."

He moved a hand over his heart. Marie grabbed it and twisted it around his back. "Don't be like that, sha. I apologize for starting this business deal on the wrong foot."

"Dispatch, this is D'Ancanto; what's my ETA?" She pushed him to the couch.

"Just another five minutes, detective," said the operator. "Is the suspect apprehended?"

"Yup. Can I gag him, too?"

The operator's grin transmitted through the radio waves. "One of those, huh?"

"He's hitting on me, dispatch. He's a perverted old man breaking into my house and hitting on me. It's actually kind of sad. I don't want to beat him up any more; I want to take him back to his nursing home. He's probably just cranky 'cause his diaper needs changing."

"Now that's just mean. You should be politer to your elders or else you get your phone privileges revoked." There was a sizzle then the caramel scent of burnt plastic and the man lunged forward.

Marie cursed. She was tired and not paying attention. Trenchcoat must have used his lighter to get through the cuffs. Dammit, if he destroyed her couch as well-- She ducked down to avoid his reach and quickly had to block a kick aimed to her ribs. The phone flew from her hand. By the clatter it produced, the back cover and battery must have shaken loose. Locking his ankle between her crossed arms, she pulled up and to the right, unbalancing him. He landed on his hands and raised his other leg like a cartwheel; his ankle came loose from her grasp. Marie used upward momentum to deliver a punch to his gut. He grunted but landed solidly on his feet. He held his arms up again.

"I don't want to fight you; I want to hire you," he said.

"Not interested." Marie threw another punch. He dodged it but her left hook was waiting for his throat. He tried to block but he didn't shift his weight quite well enough and her knuckles slammed against his jugular instead.

"You haven't even heard the payment."

"Don't need to."

She faked a right jab and caught him behind the knee when he tried to dance away. He fell-- or let himself fall-- on his back with both legs bent. He kicked up from that angle, catching her in the stomach. Air exploded from her lungs, she reeled back. He twisted his legs again, this time, catching her right ankle. Marie went down hard on her stomach, her elbow catching on the dining table.

Okay, now she was angry. 

She stayed on the floor until she felt him stand over her. Then she whipped around, one elbow bent, one fist clenched. The elbow caught him in the upper thigh; as he crouched over, the fist pounded into his jaw. 

"Will you stop hitting me?!" he yelled.

"I told you I'd had a rough day but you wouldn't listen," she said. "Now, stay put before you break your hip."

"Yes, ma'am, Miz. Police Detective, ma'am." He leaned against her dining table. On his hands. Which were no longer in flexicuffs.

Marie snatched an empty metal fruit bowl off the kitchen counter and flung it at the man's head. He ducked; she aimed a kick at his jaw. He caught her heel and stood up, throwing her off balance. Her back thwacked on the wooden floor. Marie backrolled away from him to buy herself a couple seconds to breathe while back-up showed up. If back-up showed up. She really should've just brought him in herself but there were protocols.

Trenchcoat took a step back as well. "Are you gonna listen to me now?"

"Sure. What the hell," said Marie. She might as well stall him.

"My bag's there by the window. It's got a manila folder in it. Take it out and have a look."

"And it's not anthrax because?"

He threw her a withering look. "Who raised you? Howard fucking Hughes?"

"Who?"

"You don't know... just open the bag, sha."

Marie pulled a pair of nitrile gloves from a box on a side table before going through the bag. Like the man said, the only contents were papers in a manila folder. She pulled them out and spread them on the table. Senator Simon Trask gazed vaguely past her shoulder in several large glossy photographs.

"I knew lobbyists were cutthroat but I didn't think they resorted to breaking into houses for votes," said Marie. "Regardless, I didn't vote for that douchebag and I never will."

"Good. 'Cause I'm going to pay you to kill him."

He had balls. Or brain damage. "I'm not going to kill anyone."

"Sure you are. Everyone's got a price."

"No I'm not. But thanks to your insistence, I can let Trask's people know to expect an assassination attempt."

Trenchcoat shrugged. "Suppose you could try. Wouldn't make a difference, not to those racist assholes. Me, I think they'll laugh at your face and maybe beat it 'round for being an uppity genejoke. Better to wipe him off the planet and profit as well, hein?"

Sirens clanged down the street. Despite herself, Marie glanced away at the noise. It was only for a split second but Trenchcoat was gone. Only the pictures remained on the table. Senator Trask's campaign poster grinned.

* * *

_Heat from the steel balcony grates bit through her vest. Smoke obstructed her sight line, even through goggles. Her hands cooled the rifle stock._

_  
_

"I don't care!" Johnny cried out. "I'm already dead."

His head appeared in the sights, dark, misshapen. A scent floated to her, musky, sweet, almost like leather and lard barbeque. She fired.

Marie kicked off her sheets, sweaty and short of breath. Her arms tingled with the memory of fire; she rubbed them, her eyes fluttering closed. Would the smell of smoke never leave? She opened her eyes again and turned towards the clock. 4:54 in the morning. That was just cruel. She pulled a pillow over her head and tried to sleep again. She could not afford to look shitty at the office on press day.

Affable, clean-cut with blond hair, blue eyes and sixteen-foot white wings, Warren Worthington III's ascent into Boston's mayoral seat had as much to do with entertainment media as with changes in human-mutant relations. The mutant community could not have picked a better spokesperson. The cameras loved him and the connotations that went with his wings. In response to allegations from childhood acquaintances of Warren creating a media persona during his first grassroots campaign, he spoke passionately about freeing his true self along with his wings, how keeping them bound affected his personality especially social interaction and self-worth. That much-quoted interview improved the mutant condition even more.

The interview printed five years ago. Last year, he became the first elected official in the United States who was openly a mutant. He hadn't bound his wings since the Alcatraz Attacks; fashion designers vied to create clothes to accommodate them. Those angel wings trailed behind him as he walked up the street towards the station with the police commissioner on his left, the mayor of New York on his right and an excited crowd all around. A mob of photographers and cameramen from legitimate and tabloid companies raised a ruckus, trying to capture his attention. Smiling shyly, Warren shook hands and conversed with anyone who sidled next to him, making his trek up to the station a slow one.

Marie's fellow officers pressed their faces against the glass, waiting. Marie quickly checked her hair in case she got caught in a background pic then turned back to her report on Pyro's meltdown. Charlotte was no help; despite her crush on Worthington, she took the day off to take her son to a prestigious day camp in Pennsylvania. Made Marie wish she had someone to go home to besides a vain betta fish.The microphone and speakers set up on the sidewalk were loud enough for her to hear all the press statements but it was Warren's, the last one, she heard. 

"Thank you so much for your interest," he began. "Thank you especially to the City of New York for having the foresight to create the Mutant Crimes Task Force. There are those who say this unit promotes racism and segregation. They mistakenly believe this is was our country's sole solution to bridging the gap between the mutant community and the rest of humanity. They are wrong. This is only the first step, the acknowledgement that while mutants are a unique people, they _are_ people. I know the plan is to create a body of experts not only on mutant crimes but on crimes against mutants. That these experts will teach others in the force through experience, research and example. My hope is that someday soon, we won't need a specialised task force because all police officers everywhere will have the understanding to serve the mutant community equally and in unity with all other people of America."

He waited for the cheers to subside.

"I will be in New York for the day with the head of the Boston's Committee for Public Safety, Joan Bianchi. We want to understand how the Task Force works in order to integrate their methods throughout the entire Boston Police Department. I will also meet with Ororo Munroe of Xavier's Institute regarding funding and curriculum for Massachusetts Academy, the boarding school for mutants which opened in Boston four years ago. If I can be informal for a second, I am ridiculously excited about this visit. We've come so far in such a short span of time. It was right here in New York State that we took a giant step towards making this country truly the land of the free, no matter your religion, race, sexual preference, or genetics. Thank you so much again for the warm welcome."

"Okay, everyone, squeeze your panties dry; he's coming in," Everett called out. 

Half the staff scrambled to look productive; the other half didn't bother pretending. Marie ducked behind her computer but Warren zeroed on her anyway. With a marginally smaller entourage in tow, he tapped gently on her desk. "Hey."

"Hey." She flashed him a close-lipped smile meant to deter further conversation. Several of the other officers were already gaping at her.

"You're coming to dinner at the Institute tonight, right?"

"I don't really go to the Institute much anymore."

"All the more reason to visit."

"I've got patrol tonight and I really can't get out of it." The police commissioner mouthed something along the lines of "just go" but Marie was adamant. "There's only ninety-eight of us for all five boroughs of New York City so every spare set of eyes count."

"That's really too bad. Maybe next time." Warren shook her hand, bent down to kiss the air beside her cheek, and moved on.

Marie tried to go back to writing her report but just as she feared, the encounter curtailed work. She could have borne it all well enough but the captain called her to his office at the start of patrol and ordered her to take the night off for the dinner. "You can give him a lot of insight, D'Ancanto. He'll trust it more coming from a friend."

"We're more like acquaintances," Marie said. "We had mutual friends but we never really talk to each other much."

"Really." Captain Harper steepled his fingers. "D'Ancanto, I'm asking this as a favour for the whole unit. Worthington's got a lot of pull these days; if he approves something, every other city follows. If he likes what he sees here, he might put a good word in to the commissioner or the mayor. Heck, even the state officials might back him up. We could use the funding."

"I'm no good at politics."

"Then don't even try. Just be yourself."

The man really couldn't stop talking in PR quotes. Marie tamped down the urge to roll her eyes.

"Is this going to be a paid leave?"

"Come on, D'Ancanto, you can't do this out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Bills to pay, Captain. Also, you're ordering me to a high school reunion. Do you remember the emotional hellhole you go through in high school? Now multiply that by the X-factor."

Captain Harper sighed. "I can give you a bonus out of the PR fund if you attempt to be sociable."

"Done."

* * *

At the gates of Xavier's Institute, Marie realised the promise of a bonus wasn't enough. She should have demanded to see the actual amount on the cheque. She eased her Chopper-by-way-of-Kawasaki ratbike down the driveway, the matte black clutter of the engines a contrast to the bright gardens. The formal English landscaping was long gone; Storm's aesthetic leaned towards the natural. Flowering vines tumbled through Boston ivy. Mismatched urns overflowing with more flowery things occasionally dotted the edging. The central reflecting pool at the top of the driveway had been replaced by a more organically shaped pond. Lilies and duckweed hid fat koi while papyrus and cattails spiked out of the rounded river stones surrounding the pool. 

The estate had a parking lot now; she took a space close to the garden entrance and dismounted. Her stomach clenched and her hands tingled. Marie pulled her riding gloves off stretched. The tingle remained in her fingers. Oh no. Not this. Not now. Marie pressed her lips together. 

There was still time to go; no one saw her yet.

But she'd promised the captain she'd go.

Damn.  
  
On the way to the front doors, she passed two black cars so inconspicuous, they had to be government appointed. A security guard nodded to her as she passed by but didn't stop for identification. That had to be Storm's influence. If it was up to Logan, they'd be carrying semi-automatics. 

What used to be the foyer was now a lobby with a U-shaped reception desk. Another guard sat behind it, eye flicking up at her from three monitors on his right. "How can I help you?"

"I... I'm here for the dinner. I think."

The guard raised an eyebrow.

Marie mentally slapped herself then straightened her shoulders back. "Mayor Worthington's expecting me as a consultant for the mutant crimes task force integration unit in Boston. My card."

The guard accepted the simple business card. "The dining room is on the main floor to your left."

Marie tried not to fiddle with her purse straps as her flats slapped on the hardwood floor. Storm had kept the school's impressively old-world finish, adding only free-standing plants and whatever furniture was required in each room. The voices ahead added to her apprehension. The indistinguishable conversations whipped her right back to the last few months at Xavier's. Conversations ending when she entered. Notes left in her room. Pointed stares. Nothing huge compared to stories she'd heard from kids on the street and she still had some friends but... She really should have asked for an exact amount on that bonus. 

The dining room doors lay wide open. Floor-to-ceiling windows let dimming fall light in to gild the milling guests. The chandelier and wall sconces kept the room from being too gothic. On the farthest side of the family-style round table were Storm, Warren and Police Commissioner Brock conversing and sipping wine. Closer to her, Jubilee laughed at something Bobby said; he popped an appetizer in his mouth. Some older teenagers sat in a small group, awkward and excited; Marie didn't recognize any of them. Kurt Wagner stood with four men and women in casual suits, comfortably sharing vacation stories. She shouldn't be here. No one saw her yet, it wasn't too late to leave. Marie took a step back and promptly bumped onto a wall of muscle.

"Is that you, Rogue?" Pete's question drew everyone's attention. Great.

Marie turned around and pasted on a smile. She couldn't be mad at him; he was too much of a teddy bear. "Hey, Pete. Still taking up the whole hallway, huh?"

"Faulty neoclassical design." He embraced her, warmly, firmly. "I'm so glad you came. With Kitty here, it's almost a reunion."

"Rogue!" Jubilee waved and bounded over. She squeezed Marie into an embrace, squealing and swaying roughly left and right. "It's been _forever_! Are you too badass now to come up from the City?"

"Well, considering I know how you drive, I knew if I ever saw you again, I'd have to arrest you for outstanding speeding tickets," said Marie. She nodded to Bobby who had followed Jubilee at a more sedate pace. "Hi."

"Hi," said Bobby. He held out a hand for a shake which Marie accepted but Jubilee let out an "ohforfuck'ssake" and pushed Bobby closer so he tripped into a hug. They patted each other's back quickly. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Me neither," said Marie. "So, uh..."

"Detective D'Ancanto, I'm so glad you accepted my invitation." Warren covered her hand in both of his. "I had just commented to Commissioner Brock about what a small world we live in. Unfortunately, I entered the care of Xavier's when you were just leaving, correct?"

"Yeah," Marie said, unsure of his point.

"Rogue was our student for a year," Storm told the commissioner.

"And then you graduated," said Brock.

"Sort of," Marie said. "I was one of the people who took the first batch of Novomane and my powers were permanently nullified. So I really just hung around long enough to finish my diploma. Warren knows more about the school-- I mean, the Institute than I do."

"What is the Institute's policy on people who take Novomane, Ms. Munroe?" asked one of the unknown adults, a man Marie was pretty sure she saw on CNN once. He had the look of a teleprompter addict about him. 

"As you all know, Xavier's Institute houses the only medical facility specifically for mutants," said Storm. "We have seen many adverse effects from the drug due to the lack of appropriate clinical trials as well as a dearth in knowledge about mutant physiology. What most do not understand is that powers are not isolated in one part of the system. It is part of the genetic code inlaid in every cell in a mutant's body. We all know that deleted genes in baseline humans often result in health disorders. There was so much deception when Novomane first came out, begging your pardon, Warren--"

He waved it away. "It's true. Calling it the Cure was the biggest deception of all."

"-- that we really shouldn't judge those who fell for the hype, as they say."

"At least some people got their powers back," said Kitty.

"But some keep taking Novomane," Commissioner Brock said. "Are there any side effects to that?"

"The simplest answer is we don't know," said Storm. "It is far too soon to make generalisations. I will say that in my experience, those who continue to use Novomane often have issues outside of their physical health."

She hadn't changed a bit. Marie curled in her fingers and turned to Pete to change the subject. "So, is dinner as good as it smells?"

"Better," he said. "My mom's on loan from Massachusetts Academy tonight."

They began walking to their seats. "Man, I've missed her."

"She's missed you, too. She wants you to visit the school to tell all the girls that you can eat three full meals a day and still look beautiful in a dress."

Marie grinned up at him. "Pete! Are you flirting with me?" A blush spread quickly over his fair skin, making Marie laugh.

They sat together on the table. Kitty appeared at the last minute to sit on Pete's other side. Jubilee plunked herself beside Marie as well but Bobby sat several places away with Kurt, a councilman and a doctor named Cecelia between them. Light political debates swam between football conversation and homework gripes. Warren sat across the table from Marie, charming donations for Massachusetts Academy from his seatmates. She had no idea why he wanted her here if he wasn't even going to talk to her. It was probably just political bullshit and the captain didn't know it. She helped herself to another serving of the soup for the lack of anything else to do.

Kurt turned from the councilman to address her. "Marie, I hope it is permissible for you to speak of your work? Some of the students expressed interest in the police force." He gestured to the kids at the table. "Will you share more of what it is you do?"

"I, ah." Marie fought not to fiddle with her spoon. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you do normal cop stuff?" one of the kids piped up.

"Of course. I'm actually a detective now." The students perked up so Marie felt comfortable enough to keep talking. "We're set up in pairs: a mutant and a baseline. It's supposed to be senior and rookie; right now most of the seniors are baselines but we have one detective who came out as a mutant after ten years in the service so he's the senior one in his set."

"I heard mutant cops can't have guns," said another student.

"That's not true; we're assigned hand guns. We're also allowed to use our powers to our discretion but we have to log it just like we have to log using any other weapons. I'm actually also doing some specialised training kind of like SWAT."

"Yeah, I heard from your captain that you were key in taking down the source of the Manhattan fires two days ago," Warren said.

"Actually I--"

"His name was John Allerdyce," Storm said from across the way. "What he did was wrong but please give him the dignity of a name."

Abashed, Warren said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Did you know him?"

"He was one of our students long ago who unfortunately lost his way. We tried many times to talk him out of Magneto's extremist views but--"

"But John's a stubborn ass," said Bobby. "The more you tell him not to do something, the more he wants to do it."

"He had very negative baseline experiences, a lot of fear and absolutely no money. Terrorist groups exploit things like that, and twist it," Pete added. 

One of Johnny's last words replayed in Marie's head. _I'm already dead._ She shivered. What the hell did he mean by that anyway? He'd sounded desperate. The Johnny she knew would never show weakness like that, out in the open. Cockiness was his defence mechanism. What on Earth had him so scared he'd let himself burn rather than surrender to the X-Men?

"I had hoped the mutant officers of Mutant Crimes Task Force would use their powers to prevent casualties but I suppose when one removes that option, only deadly force remains." Storm studiously did not look at Marie but she knew who that comment was targeted at.

"I'm sorry, Ororo, could you please just yell at me and get it over with?"

"I don't know what you--"

"Yes, you do. You've been digging at me since I came in. You just cannot get over the fact that I'm happy. I am very freakin' happy without my powers, okay?"

Far too calmly, Ororo folded her hands on the table. "That is your prerogative, Marie."

"Yes it is. And I don't appreciate the passive-aggressive swipes you're dishing out just because you've got baggage from the kids who 'failed'."

"Perhaps you're the one who-- " Storm snapped her mouth shut, took a breath and said, "We'll talk about this after dinner."

"Let's not." Marie stood up. "I'm done with dinner, thanks. It was great. Compliments to your mom, Pete. I'm going to go home."

Warren followed her outside. "Marie! Hey, Marie, wait. Wait up." She slowed as she got to the door. "I'm really glad you came."

"I'm not." At his raised brows, she said, "Coming back here is so surreal. It was the one place I really felt like I belonged but now, it's anything but."

"Ororo can come off strong."

"She's a tank."

"So are you," Warren pointed out.

Marie covered her face with one hand. "I can't believe I said all of that in front of company. Please, let's never speak of this again."

"Consider me a vault." He leaned beside her on the balustrade, "I hate to be the quintessential politician tonight but I do have a favour to ask of you."

It was her turn to arch her brows. "I don't think I can match your donation to MassAcad, Mr. Mayor."

He shook his head. "What do you know about a crime syndicate called the Guild that supposedly controls all the crimes down the Atlantic coast?"

"Boogie monsters for rookies. I stopped believing in them two months after grad."

"It might not be all fairytales," said Warren. "I don't like the crime rate pattern in Boston."

"You have something against a downward trend in murders?"

"Only when it's alongside an upward trend in all other crimes. Larceny, possession, violent crimes, ninety-nine percent of them without witnesses. The ones that do get arrested walk on technicalities. It reeks of a major mob take-over with infiltration. I think I have someone crooked in the office." He frowned. "Several someones in several offices."

"You suspect your police department?" Marie asked.

"Not everyone but, yeah. I just... being here, working with the X-Men, it gives you a bit of a second sense when things aren't quite right, y'know?"

She completely understood. One of the reasons she went into police work was the X-Men training she received. The work felt normal. Instinctual. "MacTac steps on enough feet as it is. Besides, IA takes care of crooked cops; only they have access to information like that."

"But you have access to databases that I don't. God, Marie, please don't look at me like that. I swear this isn't paranoia."

"Give me three good reasons why and Xavier's doesn't count."

"I've heard a lot of... unsettling things in council as far up as Boston. Things that concern the safety of both baselines and mutants, but if I poke my nose too far in I'll get slammed in the circles for having biases."

"Which you do."

"Of course I do. Everyone does and if they say otherwise, they're lying. I have to be perfect, Marie." He gestured to the brightly lit dinner party inside. "They need me to be."

For the first time, Marie noted the shadows under Warren's eyes, tastefully covered with make-up and the droop of his wings. He'd lost weight, too; the night carved knife-edges from his cheekbones. He did have to be perfect. As the first mutant elected into public office, he represented Xavier's dream of harmonious integration between baselines and mutants. And he had to do it with cameras around all the time. 

"I'll let that go as reason number one," she said.

"Man, you're a hard ass. Logan taught you well." He ran a hand through his hair. "We're seeing a scary upswing of mutants joining or forming gangs. Worst case scenario: the old mob connections have them as enforcers hence the complete takeover. Even worse case scenario: it's a mutant gang that's done the take over, giving the rest of the world more reason to hate and fear us." 

"And reason three?"

"Shit spreads. If it's happening in Boston, it's going to happen here. If it hasn't already. What are the crime patterns in New York City, Detective?"

"How's ziff use in Boston?" Marie threw back.

"Ziff? It's the new meth. We already have an email hotline specifically for ziff-related questions and crimes."

"That's the crime pattern in NYC as far as MacTac is concerned. We haven't heard anything about the Guild. We're too busy with the real gangs."

"But Marie, if the Guild story is true, this means there's really just one gang for all crimes this side of the Mississippi."

"Do you know how impossible that would be? Even the original Sicilian mafia families in their heyday couldn't maintain the organization and internal politics to move as a unit. How could one or two families actually be in charge of all the thefts, prostitution, trafficking and assassinations in the country?"

"Not the country, just the East Coast."

"Well, hell, that's _much_ more reasonable."

"I didn't know cops could be sarcastic."

"I can 'cause I'm the cynical Xavier's flattie drop-out."

Warren made a face.

"What? I'm goddamn reappropriating the word, okay?"

"Marie, I understand. No, I really do. I saw all sorts of mutants go through Worthington's clinical trials and some of them had mutations that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies. People who sweat acid but didn't have acid-proof skin, precogs so plagued by their visions they lost their minds, water-breathers separated from their families because they couldn't live more than five minutes on land or even simple, physical mutations that mean you get beat up if you turn the wrong corner. I know about crippling mutations just as much as I know about wonderful ones. These--" he ruffled his wings-- "pretty much mean I can never pass. But it was my choice to embrace my mutation. My choice to reject everything my father deems normal. That doesn't mean it's right for everyone. Ororo, bless her, doesn't see it that way."

"Which is why I didn't want to go to dinner," said Marie. "Okay, so you want me to hunt down a fairy tale."

"Every sparkly bit of pixie dust you can find."

"And if I find something in the Worst Scenario list?"

Warren grimaced again. "Then we both do what we have to do. Even if it means Internal Affairs and risking a mutant backlash."

"Deal." Marie stuck out her hand. Warren took it. Then he pulled her into a hug tighter than she thought their relationship-- more of an acquaintance really-- warranted. She patted his back, uncomfortable. "Um. Okay. How many highballs did you have, Mr. Mayor?"

"Take care of yourself, Detective." He smiled and waved, centrefold perfect.

She swerved a few times on the way back home. That dinner took a lot out of her. Her hands still tingled all the way to her elbows from keeping everything in. This wasn't right. All the stress must have gotten to her. 

Leaving her bike parked crooked, she bolted up to her apartment. The tingles spread over her chest now and down her back. Her key slipped twice before she took a deep breath. She was going to be okay; this wasn't an emergency. 

Still, she dropped all her stuff on the dining table, uncharacteristically messy, and headed straight for the fridge. In the back was a grey, unlabelled, plastic box. Marie took it out, put it on the counter. The cupboard over the fridge held a bigger box with all the caps, needles, sterile saline, tubing and individually wrapped alcohol swabs. She used a stool to pull that container out. Opening the grey box, she pulled out a small vial of her meds. She snapped the top off, mixed with it with some saline and spiked it with the business end of the tubing. The clear fluid trickled down the plastic tube. When a drop bubbled off the tip, she capped it with a needle and headed to the couch. 

A small framed sketch of matryoshka dolls hung over the couch, marking the middle. Marie took it off and hung the saline bag on the nail. As she sat down, she studied her arms. She just took meds last month so if she poked there again, she ran the risk of looking like a junkie. Feet it was then. Using the other alcohol swab, she rubbed a vein on to top of her foot clean.

The worst part of the med wasn't the needle going it, it was aiming. That half second before it went in and she anticipated the pain. This time, the tip slid cleanly through. Marie pulled the steel needle out, leaving a tiny plastic cannula in her vein. She adjusted the med's height just high enough to set proper the drip rate then sat back and waited for the bag to empty. Her powers were nullified for another month.


	3. Chapter 3

For all of Captain Harper's PR posturing, he had a pretty good idea of how to run MacTac. Roughly following pre-existing precincts, he assigned patrols according to known mutant populations. Marie and Charlotte shared the Lower East Side and East Village sector with two other units. Mutants amassed thick in the area, especially Alphabet City which was quickly gaining the moniker Mutantown among the locals. They wove through morning traffic, already sluggish, on slim police issue motorcycles until they reached Charlotte's favourite pastry and coffee store inside old Little Germany. 

"I hate these damn bikes," Charlotte groused as soon as they parked. "I don't know why I keep letting you talk me into using them every damn day."

"Because if we used the car, we'd still be stuck in the hellhole that is construction," said Marie. "Is it just me, or have they been fixing that road for a decade now? Morning, Nani."

The owner waved. "'Morning, Detectives. Can I get your usuals started?"

"Please and thank you. Keep the change, hear? Those boys of yours are looking like they could start cutting their teeth on some amandines."

Nani pushed the extra cash back. "You spoil them."

"She spoils mine, too," said Charlotte. "I think she's wanting some of her own."

"I have a cousin, just arrived from Romania last year and already works in a bank. I tell him all the time, there's a pretty policewoman coming in my cafe every morning and he should go here for breakfast to meet you."

Marie pasted a smile on her face. "Maybe in a few years when I've got a cushy desk job."

"Hihihihihi!" Nani's twin boys barrelled out from behind the counter, tails whipping, ears front and centre. Eli leapt into Marie's arms and she scritched his furry head while his brother, Joshua, wrapped himself around Charlotte's left leg.

"You gots candy?" Joshua asked.

"Joshua! That's rude," Nani started to say but Marie had already pulled two caramels from a pocket-- one for each twin.

"So, how's it been?" asked Charlotte.

"Besides the fire that ate the city? There was some looting, of course, but my Jorge took a few days off to stay with us. Nothing like a big man with a shotgun to make thieves think twice. The boys stayed home with my mother."

"The neighbourhood doesn't look too damaged."

Nani looked away, slightly guilty. "There are lots of mutants here, officers, many with helpful powers."

"Good to hear," said Marie. "I'm glad people were using their gifts responsibly. You let them know to keep up the good work, okay?"

"Of course." She then leaned forward to whisper. "Have you got a few minutes after the morning rush? I have some news on what we talked about last time."

"Sure we do," Charlotte said. "Whatcha think, Marie? Ride through and back at ten?"

"Done and done. By the way, Nani, you've outdone yourself with this gogosi." Marie unwrapped Eli's legs from around her waist. "Okay, sugar. You be good for your momma."

Charlotte preferred, and Marie agreed with, random, circuitous routes during patrol, especially for the first fly-through. When the people in your beat included mind-readers, pre-cogs and hypersensitives, the lack of a routine went a way to surprise them. A short way. Not everyone welcomed the police as warmly as Nani and her family. Some even thought of mutant officers as traitors, selling out their people in exchange for personal safety. The closer to the docks, the dirtier the looks. Granted some other folks at the 9th Precinct reported receiving the same stares but Marie felt them too keenly today. Damn that visit to Xavier's; it made her touchy. They rode through the docks first thing, their presence a warning to dealers, pimps and gangs closing up shop for the night. The view lightened uptown with fewer boarded up windows and cleaner storefronts. A sullen group of teenagers on the way to school flipped them the bird, more because they were teenagers than any mutant power manifestations.

A little less than ninety minutes later, they'd looped back to the middle of the sector to Nani's cafe. Customers dotted the patio, taking advantage of the lingering heat to people watch. Nani herself was outside, wiping down tables.

"I'll be right with you, ladies."

"Take your time," said Marie as she peeked inside. The pastry displays remained full. One banana and an apple were missing from the fruit bowl. At least the coffee dispensers neared empty.

Nani re-entered, brushing her bangs off her forehead. "This weather! Humid and cloudy, humid and sunny; I feel like I'm working in a sauna all day."

"You need a bigger fan," said Charlotte.

"I know, I know but..." she shrugged. She gestured for them to come closer as she pretended to re-arrange the condiments on a side table. "The man I told you about last time was here again yesterday. Definitely setting up meetings of some sort. He must have circled the block four times before leaving and he shook hands with a lot of people."

"Can you give us a description?"

"He wore a Yankees baseball cap and a big jacket for this weather. That's why I thought he was strange. Average height, maybe a little black or Latino or East Indian in him. Pretty nice clothes for a sidewalk dealer. Do you think it's ziff?"

Marie guarded her tone. "Whatever it is, you folks don't need it in this neighbourhood."

"So true. We have enough to worry about." Nani put her hands on her hips. "Something to snack on while you're on patrol, ladies?"

Charlotte started to shake her head but Marie pulled out her wallet. "Another coffee would be great and maybe a bag of those gogosis for the road."

"Right away!"

After stashing her goodies, Marie followed Charlotte to Tompkins Square Park. They parked the bikes under the shade of some elms, content with watching the thinner late morning crowds. Some mutants, especially those who could pass, found legal work outside Alphabet City. But the neighbourhood cropped up _because_ no one could find half-decent work. Despite gentrification attempts in the late 1990's, the triple effects of 9/11, Black Tuesday and the Cure Riots battered down even the most deep-pocketed developers in a short span of time. The dispossessed had re-entrenched in the East Side.

"Did you see the size of those hedges on East Houston?" Marie asked.

"Yeah, prettiest damn barricades I've seen in my life."

"You think that's part of the pitch when the sell those refurbished flophouses to the nouveau yuppies? 'This quaint Victorian whorehouse overlooks the mutant ghetto for the discerning young hipster professional who wants to stay real but not too real.'"

Charlotte snorted. "I gotta tell Timmy that one."

"How's he doing?"

"Got into AP History. A little sketchy on the algebra."

"You mean the tenth grade algebra he's taking now that he's in the ninth grade?"

"Yup."

Marie rolled her eyes. "Remind him to give a few of those honours plaques for the intellectually needy."

"Naw, bitches can eat his dust." More shyly, Charlotte added, "He tried out for the wheelchair basketball team."

"How did he like it?"

"Moaned and groaned and found someone else just as crazy about videogames instead. I told him he could have his new pal over if he gave basketball a try for a month. Boy is getting chunky."

A pale blue sedan with Maryland plates drove by which wouldn't be too big a deal if it moved over twenty miles an hour and its windows weren't blacked out. Marie casually put her snacks away. Catching Charlotte's eye, she pointed at the car under the guise of wiping her mouth. Charlotte tilted her chin down, acknowledging the signal.

"Hell, Jones, he's fourteen! He's still got baby fat."

"We're the only two people in my family who don't have diabetes and it's going to stay that way. Lord love his brain but he's gotta take up a sport."

The car disappeared around a corner but Marie managed to catch the license plate number. She entered it on her handheld for a search. The car came up clean. She shrugged at Charlotte. "Feel like stretching your legs?"

"Yeah. Let's go park these at the station and do the rest of the patrol on foot."

The 9th Precinct station was two blocks down the same street their suspicious sedan. As she passed by, Marie took quick stock of the building and its surroundings. Laundromat and a closed pizza joint. Apartments above. Scraggly flower boxes and bars on the windows. A trio of people crouched outside the laundromat, one of them with a baseball cap.

"What do you think?" she asked Charlotte.

"If I had to arrest every guy with a Yankees cap--"

"-- and an illegally tinted window. Still."

"Yeah."

They turned the bikes around. The trio at the storefront didn't move but their eyes sharpened at the officers' approach. Yankees Cap did have darker skin but it seemed to be due to a patchwork of burn scars in various stages of healing. His buddy to the right had four beefy arms, both pairs crossed while the one on his left looked like a cross between a pterodactyl and a human. They flickered their gazes at the Mutant Crimes Task Force badges. Marie kept her hands at her belt, close enough to her weapons without being overtly threatening.

"Any of you three the owner of this vehicle?" asked Marie.

They shook their heads.

"Looks like a window tint violation. Good thing the window's cracked open so I can check." She took the tint meter from Charlotte's hands.

"Don't you gotta have a warrant for that?" asked Four-Arms.

"Do we need a warrant?" Charlotte threw back.

Dino-Man said, "We're jussst hanging out, lady. Or isss being a mutant offissshally illegal now?"

"Ain't got any business with you if this ain't your car. And it's definitely in violation of automotive tinting by-laws." Marie stepped back to her bike to pull out her ticketing machine when Dino-Man spread his wings and cawed. Charlotte quickly back-stepped as well, casing the scenario. MacTac trained specifically for interactions like this, learning to gauge mutant actions as threatening or merely a physical necessity. In the two seconds of processing, his buddy Four-Arms lunged for Marie's neck.

Not a physical necessity then.

She whipped out her CS spray and baton, aiming the gas at Dino-Man's face then swung around with the baton. Wielded like a straight-forward bludgeon, T-batons transferred less kinetic energy but Marie doubted she needed much. Dino-Man's beak looked like a tender place for a hit. Sure enough as soon as the stick made contact, he screamed and stumbled away. Of course, the tear gas probably helped. Marie stepped back to reassess. Charlotte had Four-Arms doubled-over for a breath, ranting his Miranda Rights like a curse while she snapped cuffs around his wrists. Bystanders had gathered, tensions increasing.

"Police brutality!" someone shouted out.

Marie held her hands up. "Yeah? You taped the part where they lunged us first?"

"D'Ancanto! Attention on the perps. Is yours cuffed?" Charlotte asked.

"Getting to it." MacTac carried both hinged and flexicuffs. Dino-Man's bony hands didn't really have a wrist-type joint and his fingers could easily slip through even plasticuffs. Marie was willing to bet they were fragile though; too much twisting might break them and discourage him from twisting free. She tightened the cuffs, keeping an eye out for the growing crowd. The amount of people gathered wasn't large enough to qualify as a true mob but two minimally armed officers on foot would have plenty of trouble controlling them.

"Since it caused so much trouble, let's impound the car as well," said Charlotte. She touched her radio on and got dispatch to transfer them to the nearest precinct. "Hey, this is Jones from MacTac. My partner and I have two fellas under arrest for assaulting police officers in retaliation to a traffic violation and suspicion in a current case. Was wondering if you could come over and help us tow it?"

"You like kicking your own people when they're down?" Dino-Man demanded.

"You attacked first," said Marie. "If there'd been more people around, you might've hurt them."

"Ha!"

"Yeah, plenty funny generating more violence. We were just going to hand out a ticket."

"Tickets we can't pay. And if we don't pay, we go in the clink. It's just a conspiracy to round up all us mutants."

The crowd murmured its assent. Dino-Man was just getting going.

"I bet that crap you sprayed in my eyes was Legacy."

"Now that's just stupid," Marie cried out but some of the bystanders had already heard. The crowd surged back, some crying out in fear.

"The government made Novomane to take away our powers but that wasn't enough! Now they're trying to kill us with a disease!"

"D'Ancanto, shut him up before this turns into a mob!" Charlotte ordered.

"Pig!" A bottle accompanied the epithet, splintering inches from their bikes. The crowd, three deep now, inched close. 

Marie stowed her baton, slowly to ease tensions, then raised both hands up. "All y'all, take it easy. I understand this was all pretty scary but we don't want anyone else hurt, y'hear?"

"You called in more cops," said Four Arms.

"Yeah and they aren't interested in anyone but you two," Marie said. "And your car. Everyone else, just go about your business and everything'll be all right."

Half the crowd trailed away. The remainder still looked angry but they didn't come closer. It was the best she could do for now. "Did you see where the third guy went?"

Charlotte wagged her head. "Slipped clean away."

"Shoot."

If that man had been their suspect, he'd be ten times as wary now and Nani would've risked her safety for nothing. Marie hoped the car turned something up.

* * *

The forensic garage called four days later, a new record in follow-up speed for their department.

"I guess brass stands up and takes notice when half of Manhattan burns down," said Charlotte.

"Want me to go down to the garage?"

"And leave me with paperwork? No way, rookie. The only reason I'd let you do that is if you lead the case." Charlotte held out the file.

Marie blinked. Twice. "You're shitting me."

"You can't be detective third-class forever and someone else in this place needs to pick up the slack." She raised her voice at the last half of the sentence. Several jeers volleyed back to their desk. "Come on, take it."

Beaming, Marie did. The drive to the forensic garage wasn't as tedious. If she did good on her first major case, it would act as a commendation for a promotion. She loved her ratty old apartment and her colourful neighbourhood but it would be nice to have to money to work on her bike again. And maybe even take a vacation outside the country.

The TV in the lobby murmured the news. The young reporter shared the screen with a man in the tail end of middle age. The ticker at the bottom of the screen announced "Senator Simon Trask: Citizen Protect Program."

"Senator, isn't it true that the proposed Citizen Protect Program violates civil rights?" asked the reporter.

"On the contrary, it was created to protect our civil rights and liberties," Trask responded. "We all want to live in a country without fear--"

"But you _are_ creating fear. Fear of unjust persecution and being driven out by their own neighbours---"

"Let me finish, please, Jessica. I was saying, we all want to live in a country without fear of terrorists having access to high population or sensitive areas."

"Senator, there are people who accuse the Program of focussing heavily on the mutant population."

"Quite frankly, they're wrong. The Program looks for anyone suspected to have the means to inflict a great deal of injury to other people as well as public and private property. Yes, a good portion of those on the list are mutants but you can't deny that through no fault of their own, some mutants are a threat to--"

"What an unpleasant little mole." A mountain of a man-- he'd give Pete a run for his money!-- changed the channel then turned to shake her hand vigorously. Grime streaked her palm. She smiled. Reminded her of shop class with Scott Summers. "Detective D'Ancanto? John Irons, department head."

"Pleased to meet you. Call me Marie. Thanks for responding so quickly."

"Anything earmarked for a ziff case gets kicked up the list. That's straight from the commissioner. We've only just started pulling her apart."

"That's all right, I'd like to help. I'm a certified tech for the garage and an unrepentant gearhead."

"Good to know. What you've brought in is stock, ridiculously unsexy."

"But we all know the quiet ones give up more."

"Exactly." They made their way through the warehouse, passing through several stalls before reaching their car. To the right, a tech rolled up the wall-vac tube. He nodded to them and said, "I was going to look under the upholstery."

"Then we'll take over. If you don't mind getting your hands dirty, Marie," said Irons.

"Not at all," Marie answered. 

With Irons' help, she removed the car seats from the vehicle and set them on a low platform. She unclipped the upholstery from the backseat while he took care of the driver and passenger side. Marie patted down the foam stuffing, lightly at first, then with more pressure towards the middle. Something felt off.

"I think I might've found something," she told Irons. He crouched beside her. Together, they peeled down the foam stuffing to reveal two rows of bubble wrap, folded to the length of the seats. After taking measurements and some pictures, they pried the bubble wrap from the seat frame and laid it out on an empty table nearby. Four layers of bubble wrap later, they uncovered thumb-sized vials of clear, yellow-tinged fluid.

"What the hell is this?" Irons murmured. He picked one up and held it up against the light.

Marie picked up another vial. Immediately, the skin touching the vial went cool. Her hands tingled. "Whatever it is, I'm willing to bet it's not legal. Let's bag and tag and I'll bring it back to MacTac."

"We have a lab across the street; I can get it rushed."

"Much appreciated."

MacTac used standard police labs all the time but Marie had another resource in mind. She punched in Mayor Worthington's number up in Boston.

* * *

"Jones! D'Ancanto!" They both looked up. "Captain wants to see you in his office."

Marie downed her coffee. She shouldn't have expected Irons' lab to call with the specs of those vials so soon. They'd only taken the car apart yesterday. Labs had a forty-eight hour turn-over at best. Still "I'm waiting for a call."

"That's why we have answering machines, D'Ancanto." Charlotte smacked her arm. "C'mon on. Up and at 'em."

"Ugh."

Because the captain's office was on the second floor, Marie couldn't have missed his guests. Dr. MacTaggert and Bobby had walked in an hour ago, faces set. Bobby had peeked at her through the maze of desk pods. He must've practiced that blank look for days. 

"Did you just have dinner with these folks?" asked Charlotte. "Which, by the way, I'm still pissed about. You could've brought me as your plus one."

"Yeah, and you'd've witnessed mine and Storm's complete inability to stand each other," said Marie. "Warren spent a good portion of the night smoothing feathers. Pun intended and waiting for a rimshot."

"Considering how much I like to knock you around, I bet I would've had a lot of fun."

Captain Harper's assistant buzzed into the intercom as soon as she saw them approach. "Go right in. They're expecting you."

Charlotte knocked once before opening the door. Captain Harper looked up from some files to nod at their entry; his guests followed his gaze. "You wanted to see us, Captain?"

The captain waved them to at pair of fold-out chairs. "It's a little crowded in here. Have a seat, you two. I know you're familiar with the Xavier's people. Jones, this is Dr. MacTaggert and Bobby." Without waiting for an answer, he ploughed on. "Now that they're here, Doctor, maybe you can explain some of these findings."

Dr. MacTaggert cleared her throat and smiled tightly. "We're here about John Allerdyce's attack on Manhattan three weeks ago. We've completed the autopsy and there are some irregularities."

"Yeah, we figured he was hopped up on ziff," said Marie. "It's explains the out of control powers and the apparent dementia."

"There is one other factor which can explain his erratic behaviour." Moira pulled a sheet of out blood test results. "Alcatraz Legacy Disease."

"Shit," said Charlotte. "Allerdyce had Legacy?"

"Borderline advanced according to these tests."

"That explains..." Marie didn't complete her sentence, lost in the memory of that day. _I'm dead already._

The captain prodded her onward. "Explains?"

"Johnny isn't into suicide terrorism," said Bobby. "No way he would've followed a plan that ended with him dead. Hell, he doesn't even like getting winged. He's had no reticence about strategic retreat."

"That's why I thought drugs," Marie said. "There've been a couple reports on mutants completely tripping out on ziff leading to their powers hurting them."

"He could still be a user. Legacy rates are higher than the national average among ziff users," said Captain Harper.

"We're here to offer testing for every mutant officer and administrative staff under your command, Captain," said MacTaggert. "If they were exposed during the fire, the chances are quite slim that they contracted the virus but I believe it's better to be safe than sorry. The test comes with a request to participate in Legacy research, should they test positive. It will all be confidential, of course."

"I think that's a good idea. Jones? D'Ancanto?" The captain gave them a cursory acknowledgement then kept right on talking. "I'll get my assistant to write up a letter ASAP. What did you want these two here for?"

"You said they were the two closest officers at the scene. I'd like their descriptions of the events leading up to John's death."

"It's all in the report," Charlotte said, noting Marie's stiffness.

"A police report is very different from what I'm looking for," said MacTaggert. "I need details, as fine as you can manage, to compare against other known cases."

"Jones was way back getting the civilians out of the line of fire," said Marie. "She barely saw him."

"Nevertheless, her input will be invaluable. As well, Marie, you knew John quite well when you were children. You'd have a lot of insight into the personality changes caused by the illness."

"Doc, a lot of things change in ten years. Why not ask Bobby?"

Bobby twitched. "She did."

Marie shrugged. "Fine, we'll debrief after I finish writing up my reports."

"That's a piss poor excuse and you know it," said Captain Harper.

Throwing her hands up in the air, Marie said, "Let's get it out of the way, then."

"There's one more thing."

Of course there was. Marie waited.

"Mr. Drake here would like to officially identify the body. He--"

But the captain's words melted into loud buzzing to Marie, the minute Bobby actually managed to look her in the eye. Dammit. Did he have to look exactly like he did in high school? Weren't high school boyfriends supposed to go bald and fat? But no, he hadn't changed except for a little more broadness at the shoulder and a little more darkness in his hair. He even dressed the same.

"-- down, okay?" Charlotte jabbed her arm. "Hey, you! I said, I'd debrief with the doc then meet you downstairs."

"Oh. Yeah. Sure, Jones." She looked to Bobby. "You coming?"

There had to be scenarios more awkward than walking down to a morgue with a former friend you accidentally on purpose lost touch with but Marie didn't have the imagination to come up with one. Bobby didn't make things any easier by joking around.

"So, bet you're getting a lot of mileage out of those cuffs," he said, winking.

Marie stared.

"I meant, y'know, arresting people _and_ with dates."

She stared some more.

"Y'know, like with the kinky."

"Bobby."

"Yeah, okay, harassment suit." He stuck his hands in his jeans pocket. "I gotta know, though, is it true about the doughnuts?"

"Bobby, stop yourself," she nearly pleaded as they neared the basement double-doors.

"But I was just getting to my new material."

Despite herself, Marie smiled. "You're still completely impossible, you know that?"

"Yeah. It's part of my charm."

"Ha!"

"Hey, how else do you think I managed not to slip into the leadership noose?" He opened the doors to the morgue entrance and stepped aside to allow her through first. "Jubilee's co-captain after Logan and thank God for it."

Marie waved at Ismael Ortega, on toe-tag duty tonight. He tipped his cover at her and kept on surfing the net. "Losing at poker again?" Marie teased.

"That's illegal," Ismael said, deadpan. "I'm catching up on my shows."

"This is Bobby. We're here to ID a body."

He gestured grandly at the doors. "You gonna need some time?"

Marie started to shake her head but Bobby placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "If we can, please."

"Didn't think you were the sentimental type," she said as the doors clicked behind them.

"I'm about to stare at Johnny's body," he said. "There's no knock-knock joke on Earth for that."

She showed him the cubbies for the disposable eye-shield masks, the protective robes and the nitrile gloves. They helped with detachment as well as protection against body fluids. She learned that in police academy. The body lay behind Door C5. They stopped. Marie tugged on the stainless steel bar. Ball bearings rumbled and creaked, a puff of cold air smacking their faces as they stared down at the covered body. Suddenly, she couldn't detach the way she had in the field. Suddenly, she couldn't help but think that it was Johnny in there. _Johnny_ with his stupid Zippo and the eat-shit grin and that stupid wallet chain that made such a racket whenever he sat down in class.

"Jesus." Bobby gulped audibly. "How did he-- His powers usually protects him from the flames but with the-- is he--?" 

Marie shook her head. "He burned too hot and the... the virus must've affected his shield. He's pretty bad, Bobby."

He nodded. "I thought he might be. I'm the closest he has to family, y'know?"

"I know." She held the body bag's zipper but had to stop again. "Most of the time, we don't let family see when it's this bad. We just give them clothes and confirm the dental records."

"Rogue."

Okay. She opened the bag just enough to show the remains of Johnny's face. His burn patterns defied known science. Most of his hair was just singed but the left side of his jawbone was ash. He still had a completely intact right ear. A blackened cheekbone and cheek muscles maintained his scream; the other side was a mass of blisters, peeling skin and scorched flesh. He didn't have eyes.

Marie quickly looked away, mouth closed against the bile roiling up her throat. That was unprofessional. Never let the family see how upset you are; it gets them even more upset. But, _God,_ the school had been Johnny's family. No matter that he was with the Brotherhood longer, no matter that she'd only been at the school for a year, that was her family on that slab. He'd been sick and she'd shot him, oh _holy Christ_ , she shot him with an adamantium bullet through the chest.

On the other side of the slab, Bobby choked down his own sobs. He sounded awful, like someone drowning. But Marie couldn't make herself go to him because if she did, she'd start crying. If she started, she'd never stop. And if she went there, let herself get lulled back into the fantasy world that was Xavier's, she'd lose everything she fought to create for herself. So Marie stood back and watched Bobby fall to pieces and hated herself all over again.

* * *

Grocery shopping ranked second on the list of Marie's favourite chores. She needed a pick-me-up after the emotional train-wreck that was work. She rubbed her palms on the hard, waxy skin of some watermelons then moved to veiny cantaloupes. The freshly washed butter lettuce shed icy water droplets, its leaves crunching with a twist of her fingers. Papery onions and lumpy potatoes went in her basket; she wiped the dirt off on her skirt. Her fishmonger loved her, too. She prodded at the halibut steaks he offered and slicked the tips of her fingers across the side of the trout. In the end, she decided on two scoops of mussels to go with her greens then fought through the mash of other customers at the doors with her prize. She petted her neighbour's labradoodle, exchanging promises to meet for coffee and rock-climbing the following weekend. The neighbour was a cute enough guy, apparently the regional manager of a chain of sports stores. He kissed like a dream.

Cooking ranked fifth, right after eating. Taste and smell equalled touch for sensuality in her opinion. Marie took a sip of her beer, bent over her pan and decided it needed a touch of basil.

"I'd put in lemon and parsley."

Marie jumped, screamed and threw the contents of the pan at the intruder who side-stepped away. The same trenchcoat-wearing intruder from last week. He'd made her lose her dinner and didn't even have the consideration to get burned.

"What the _hell_!" Her gun. Where was-- dammit, it was in her safe box.

"Are we going to go through the whole drama of calling 911 again?" he asked, almost bored.

"If you wanna stay put, I can go straight to cuffing you." 

He grinned.

"Don't even try; I've heard them all," she said before he could retort.

"Yeah, but I deliver it with style, sha."

If she couldn't find her gun, she'd settle for her phone. She'd tucked it into her purse which sat slumped on the dining chair. "If I listen to your stupid spiel, will you go away?"

Trenchcoat tilted his head a bit to the right. "Depends. You gonna agree to the assignment?"

"I highly doubt it."

"I can change your mind."

Marie pulled one of the chairs back and sat down. She gestured for him to take one as well. At the same time, she slipped her hand into her purse and pulled out her phone. Thank goodness for voice-recording apps. "Please, do you worst."

He flipped his trenchcoat back with a dramatic flair before lowering himself onto the chair across from her. "I know I won't impress you with the little things like your name, place of birth, driver's license number. Anyone can look that up. Had no idea you were buds with a mayor though; maybe you're a little bit more?"

Marie covered a yawn.

"Hein, I didn't think so. He ain't attached and neither are you. That don't make for good enough material."

"So you're trying to blackmail me into your foolheaded scheme."

"I never said that. It's such an ugly word, blackmail. I'm trying to find leverage. That's what makes the world go 'round. You're a cop, you got power by law to take away certain freedoms. That's your bargaining chip."

Marie didn't bother covering her second yawn.

"Mine is this." He held up an open, gloved hand to show her it was empty. Marie braced herself for a physical assault but he only snapped his fingers. Three fluid-filled vials appeared between them.

"What's that?"

"You don't recognize your own Novomane supply, Detective D'Ancanto?"

Her heartbeat ramped up. "My what now?"

"Oh right, you're pretending that you're one of the permanently nullified from the first batch. Don't see why. You don't seem to much care for the Xavier Institute bunch and Worthington's all about the mutant's right to choose. Mutant Crimes Task Force must be all right with nullified powers 'cause they hired you. So I don't get why all the secrecy."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't. Which is why I'm going to make away with the last of your vials. If my surveillance is right-- and it always is-- you can't get any more until next year." He whistled. "Guess detective third-class don't come with a great benefits package. You _do_ know there's a cap to the amount a doctor can prescribe, right? Or is there a special reason you're burning through your meds?"

"Who are you and why've you targeted me?"

"But of course! How very rude of me. My card, sha." He quickly shook the hand holding the vials; they disappeared, leaving a playing card. He placed it on the table. A jack of spades.

Marie cocked an eyebrow up at him. "Right. Now I know you're a Christopher Nolan fan."

"I am Gambit." He bowed, shallow but at the waist and with a theatrical arm flourish. "You'll call."

"Sure I will. To arrest you. Extortion has a minimum penalty of two years jail time. Conspiracy to commit murder is ten to twenty. Don't think your arthritic bones can take getting in bitch position every night for that long."

Gambit's grin never fell off his face. In a flash of movement, he whipped the heavy back cloth of his trenchcoat out. Marie reacted instinctively, ducking under the table then pushed it up and out. Except he no longer stood there. The table crashed on the tile floor. A mass of black moved towards the window. Marie snatched her half-empty beer bottle and threw it at Gambit's head. It clipped him, she saw it bounce off him-- did it hit his head or his shoulder?--but he didn't stop. She picked up the nearest chair and threw that, too. This time, he let out a muffled grunt. He didn't so much reach the window as slumped against it.

Remote control. Book. Book. Big book. Ratchet wrench poking out of the toolbox. Marie grabbed the ratchet and the closest hardcover. Gambit yanked her window open. She hurled one of the books. It connected between his shoulders.

"Damn it!" His eyes blazed. Literally. A ring of magenta light crackled from his irises to the corner of his eyes. He kicked out and Marie barely blocked his foot with her forearm. 

She rolled away, clutching the hem of his trenchcoat, and revealing his feet. She slammed the ratchet down on his instep but he had a good, thick boot on. Rising to her knees, she hammered his foot again then his shin. In retaliation, he grabbed her by the ponytail, pulling her up but out of arm's reach.

"I don't want to hurt you," said Gambit.

"Your mistake," said Marie. She drove the ratchet into his stomach. It thunked. Damn. Body armour?

She twisted his hand out of her hair, swinging for his arm with the wrench. He blocked it, ducked the second swing and attempted to shove her, two-handed, over the couch. She turned aside. Still holding on to his coat, she _yanked._ There was enough power in that move to make him fall but he only tilted sideway, righting himself by some preternatural sense of balance-- was that part of his mutant power?-- and slipping his arms out of the sleeves. Marie used the momentum to spin around and whip him with his own coat. The coat buttons clanged against his teeth.

He grabbed his end of the coat, twisting it around his hand. "You like fighting."

"It's a great aerobic workout." She still had the wrench in her other hand. Just a foot closer and she'd have the perfect hit.

"I knew you'd be perfect for the hit. I'll let you think on it some more and drop off details at a later date."

Marie jerked herself to a better position. She swung the ratchet down over her head, aimed straight for his. With a grunt, he dove sideways, slipping perfectly through the window, leaving her with a trenchcoat, a useless voice recording, a playing card and a whole lot of anger.


	4. Chapter 4

"Marie! Our perp from--whoa! Since when did you turn into a hacker?" Charlotte put her hands on her hips, eyes wide at the array of laptops and hardcopy files surrounding Marie.

"It's just two extra laptops," said Marie.

"The gearhead working on two laptops and a desktop; that's as close to hacker as you get."

"I can search faster this way."

Charlotte peered over one of the screens. "You're going hacker to look for the Guild?"

"It's a side thing."

"That's what my uncle said about the Bermuda Triangle and the next thing we all knew, he moved his whole family down to the Caribbean to follow a hunch. Now if I can drag you away from your crazy, we have a breakthrough on one of our real cases."

Marie clicked on two promising links, something about contract brokering between the Guild. "Which one?"

"Only the ones we're doing around now. The ziff case with the car we impounded and the two perps we picked up. You're failing me, rookie."

"Detective," Marie corrected with a smile even as she got up to follow Charlotte out of the main offices.

"Yeah, you detect your ass into 303. He won't talk without you in the room." She rolled her eyes.

"How come?"

"I'm a police officer and baseline. At least you only have one strike against you." Charlotte snagged a cup of coffee from the dispenser near the stairs and pocketed a handful of cream and sugar packets. "Rock-paper-scissors over who brings in the coffee."

"You bring the coffee. You're better at playing good cop. It's your maternal air."

"I will get maternal on your ass."

"Woo-hoo! Do it!" came a shout from the peanut gallery.

"And your ass is in fridge duty for a month, Ziegler!" Charlotte yelled back.

"Aw, man!"

"Maternal my ass." She handed Marie the coffee. "You're good cop. I'm bad cop."

Marie sighed as dramatically as she could muster. "Fine, I guess you do have a lot of years of experience with being badass. A _lot_ more years. Decades, in fact."

Charlotte was still sputtering in outrage when Marie opened the door to Interrogation Room 303. "Karl Lykos? I'm Detective Marie D'Ancanto. You've already met Detective Charlotte Jones." Gently, she deposited the coffee cup to his right. "It's pretty strong but it keeps us working. I've got cream and sugar, too if you need it. Oh, and a straw."

"Thank you," said Lykos. He looked considerably less Dino-Man today; Marie wondered if his mutation was time-related self-controlled. His beak was shorter, his wings more like arm webbing and his fingers, while clawed, looked baseline human. They wrapped around the coffee cup nearly twice around; long, baseline fingers tipped with talons. Green still tinged his skin colour but the texture was less leathery. He sipped the coffee through the straw.

Charlotte tossed a file on the table then crossed her arms, impatient. "You wanted her here to babysit while you talked. So talk."

"Jusssst her," said Lykos, pointing at Marie.

"It's all right, Jones. He's cuffed," Marie said.

"He also accused you of police brutality and purposefully spreading ALD," said Charlotte.

"That was then, this is now. I can handle it, honest. If I can't, we've got security cameras and your back at the door, right?"

"Right." Charlotte leaned forward. "You do anything to mess up my partner and I make sure you go to county instead of the cushy, mutant-friendly city lock-up."

"I will be a model ccccitizen," Lykos promised. He sipped his coffee, eyes wide with attempted innocence.

"Right." Charlotte patted Marie's shoulder on the way out. "We're right outside."

Marie nodded, never taking her eyes off Lykos. She took the seat across from him as soon as the door closed. "You're looking all right. City's treating you okay?"

"Jail's jail and you know it," said Lykos. "Forearm likes it but he'sss been on the streets all hisss life. He doesssn't know better."

Marie glanced at one of the briefs from the file. Michael McCain, preferred name: Forearm. "He was born with his mutation?"

Lykos nodded. "And he'll sssob about it to anyone unlucky enough to hear. But I had a life. I was a doctor. Second year resssident, bessst in my class. I was going to sssave the world, Detective."

"And then?"

He slapped the table, his talons scoring the surface. "And then Black Tuessssday happened! I lossst it all-- my girlfriend, my job, my home. Everything! All because of thisss." He held his hands out. "And thisss." He pointed to his face. "And thisss." To the rapidly darkening green of his skin.

"Yeah. I'm sure the three domestic violence complaints had nothing to do with it," said Marie.

"The powers make me... irritable."

"Two of those were prior to Black Tuesday."

Lykos's beak shouldn't have been able to pout but he managed. "Do you want to hear about the ziff dealers or not?"

Keeping her expression bored, Marie asked, "Ziff?"

"That's what you're arresting everyone for, isn't it?" Lykos' confident tone seeped away with every word of the sentence.

"Ziff _is_ a major problem in today's streets, Karl. Speaking of streets, your file says your street name is Sauron. Do you prefer I call you that?"

"Karl isss fine," he snapped. "Do you want drug dealing information or not?"

Marie smiled and gestured for him to continue.

"You want Griegry. Anything coming from Griegry's sssupposed to be the best. Pure stuff. Power high without the nasssstier side-effectsss."

"Is that a person or place?"

"Persson."

Marie arched her eyebrows.

Lykos withered a little more. "I'm... pretty sssure it's a perssson."

"Where does Griegry operate out of?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know." Marie clicked her tongue, tapping a quick beat on the files with a pen. "I gotta tell you, Karl, that's not a lot to go on."

"What do you mean? You have a name. You didn't have one before."

"I can tell you that I've been up to my eyeballs in everything involved with ziff for weeks now and a random name like Griegry is like a needle in a haystack. How do I know you didn't pull that out of your ass?"

"Why would I?"

"To get out of jail. Look," she threw the pen down and leaned forward to look him as straight in the eye as possible. "I get that you're not like the others in prison and I do want to help you. But with your previous record and the drug-dealing charge, you've got to give me more to work with than a name you overheard around the urinals."

Lykos' claws dug deeper on the table. "That's all I have."

Sighing, Marie said, "I'll give it a try and if anything pans out, I'll put in a good word for you. For now, lie low and maybe you can get out earlier for good behaviour."

"But... but that's not how it's supposed to work!"

"Despite what you've seen on TV, this is exactly how it works, Karl."

"No!" He banged on the table with both his hands, the chains on his cuffs clanking. Marie edged away. His beak elongated slightly, taking on a rougher texture as did his hands.

"Take it easy, Karl."

" _I am!_ " he shouted.

Charlotte rapped at the door. "Everything okay in there?"

Marie stared Lykos down. He visibly slowed his breathing down, his eyes fluttering shut. "We're fine, Jones."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. We're sure, aren't we, Karl?"

Lykos' eyes slitted open. "Yessss. I am... sssorry, detective. For losssing my temper. I... sssupose I need some anger management classesssss."

"That's a good idea." She stood. "Let me escort you back to your room upstairs. Lunch is about to start; I'll tell them to order you a tray."

"Thank you again," he said as the doors opened and his previous escorting officers entered with keys for the chain restraints under the table. "You're a sssshining beacon of our kind."

"Don't push it, Lykos." Marie handed the file to Charlotte, who pointed to the other chair. She wanted to stay in the room after Lykos left, probably to talk about the interrogation.

"I mean it, detective. I'm indebted to you." He grabbed her hand as he passed by, shaking it vigorously.

Bemused, Marie returned the shake. Then her arms buzzed with a pins and needles sensation, similar to the times when her Novomane dose wore out. She pulled away but Lykos held on, the boney parts of his hands digger into her hands. "Let go, Karl."

He narrowed his eyes and held on tighter. The tingling sensation increased. His guards pulled at his arms but Marie only tripped forward with him. Charlotte slammed her elbow down on Lykos' forearm. He released her right hand but kept a ridiculously good grip on the left. He didn't seem quite so pleased any more. In fact, he almost looked hurt. Almost like his veins throbbed and his energy was being drained away. Marie kicked him in the stomach. Lykos fell backwards; his guards failed to hold him up.

"What the hell was that?!" Charlotte demanded. Turning swiftly to Marie, she asked, concerned, "Let me see your hands."

Pulling away, she said, "I'm fine."

"He's got talons, Marie."

"I didn't get cut. Really, it was like arm wrestling with Ortega; all huffing and puffing."

"Then let me see."

Marie lunged away. The pins and needles had moved up to her shoulders, more like nails and screws. More nails drove into her temples. "I said, I'm fine!"

"Then why won't you let me see your goddamn arm?"

"What's your power?" Lykos interrupted. His guards pulled him away but he yelled back at her, "You mussst tell me!"

"Lock him up and forget the goddamn lunch tray!" Charlotte hollered back.

Her whole body was-- Marie shuddered. She felt blanketed in pulses of electricity but, staring at her arms, she saw nothing. She wiped her sleeves just in case.

"What is it?" Charlotte wanted to know but Marie only shook her head. "Don't fucking give me 'I'm fine' because you're freaking the hell out. What's going on, Marie?"

"I... I feel..." She felt her powers returned. Oh God. Oh God, no. "I have to go home."

"Let me take you."

"I can go."

"Shut up. I'm taking you." She swung her arm around, presumably to sling it around Marie's shoulders like she always did at the end of the shift when they had a chance to relax and kid around but Marie could only think of the throbbing in Lykos' veins and how they seemed the bulge through his skin and--

"Don't touch me!" she screamed.

Charlotte immediately backed away. Arms held up, she spoke softly and slowly, "I'm not going to hurt you, Marie. Just... just please, girl, tell me what you need."

"Gloves," she said. Was she panting? She was panting. Marie made an effort to slow her breathing down. "The nitrile ones are okay but they need to go over my skin. You can't touch my skin, okay?"

"Okay. Everett, hold out that box of gloves for Marie."

Snatching a handful out of the container, she pulled a pair on and stuffed the rest in her pockets. She touched her neck. "I should get a scarf."

"It's too hot--" Everett began but Charlotte said, "Just give the woman a damn scarf."

Marie yanked her hair down over her nape. Why did she cut it so short? Long hair covered her skin so well. Did she really think she'd escape this forever? She'd been too damn cocky. She'd grow her hair out again. The hassle of brushing and braiding would be worth the safety.

"Why don't you button your shirt all the way up for now?" suggested Charlotte. "The collar covers up a lot. Ev, you got a car. Can you drop D'Ancanto off at her place?"

"Sure," he said.

Marie realised how many people surrounded her. They'd all been watching her lose her shit completely. Great. As if her job wasn't difficult enough. "I'm fine," she repeated, hoping she sounded less hysterical this time. "I think... I think maybe I should go for a walk or... or maybe a nap or something. I don't need to go home after all."

"It's not a problem. Traffic isn't crazy around this time," said Everett.

"I'll tell the captain what happened," Charlotte said.

Marie tilted her head back, groaning quietly. "No, no, no that's the _last_ thing I need, Jones!"

"Pulling rank; not listening to you."

Helplessly, Everett pointed to the stairs. "I'm parked just across the street."

With a defeated huff Marie left but not without one of the laptops. She still had work to do.

* * *

As soon as Everett dropped her off at home, Marie changed into a pair of jeans and a light, long-sleeved top. She couldn't keep wearing the gloves from work; blue nitrile called for attention. She'd burned all but one of her gloves during her high school graduation camping trip with Jubilee, Bobby and Pete. That one pair, the elbow-length opera gloves she'd worn one her hitch-hiking trek out of Meridian, lined the bottom of her jewellery box. Rings and chains trickled down the material as she pulled them out; some jagged gem edges caught and clung. She plucked them off, her own breath catching. The cool satin slipped over her fingers. The seams traced her tendons. Black satin absorbed tears very well.

Fortunately, the nearest Novomane clinic was in Brooklyn and only ten minutes' drive away. Marie had heard the excuse of "having a couple drinks makes me more careful" in the occasional DUI roadblock. She felt the same now, riding below the speed limit, parking in perfect parallel on the chance that an accident could reveal her skin. In the reception area, her number clenched in her fist, she read her magazine hoping she looked the opposite of how she felt. Likely not.

Two hours later, the physician's assistant finally ushered her into an examination room. "I just need a prescription refilled," Marie said.

"I'll let the doctor know."

But when the doctor arrived, he had a frown. "Marie. Is this your patient number right here?" He showed her the medical documents in his file.

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm sorry but you're capped for the next six months."

"I know but there was an accident at work. I think another mutant jack-started my powers and I don't have any doses left."

"Our records say you should have enough to last until early next year."

Marie swallowed and closed her eyes briefly. "I've been having some problems with the meds. I'm needed them more often to nullify my powers."

"That's in our records, but we did increase the dose. You're receiving the highest safe dose."

"It's not enough! When my therapy first started, I only needed a boost once a year. A couple years ago, I needed one every six months. This year, with the increased dose, I still had to take it every twelve weeks. Something's got to be going on!"

"I agree," said the doctor. "But that doesn't explain why you no longer have a six-month supply. Marie, you have to understand, this is a controlled substance for the safety of all mutant humans. I'm not saying you're doing this but there are people who buy more doses than they need then sell it on the streets or online to places like Canada where it's illegal. As such, this clinic has to be able to answer for every dose we give out; it all goes into a national database for tracking. I'm afraid there's no way to explain the amounts you're asking for."

"But someone stole mine!"

The doctor frowned. "You said you needed more because they weren't working."

"That's true. And someone stole my supply, too."

"Hmmm." The doctor scribbled on her file probably something along the lines of "WARNING: possibly a lying liar who lies." Marie's palms started to sweat and it had nothing to do with the temperature. "It says here that one of the effects of your gift is the absorption of psychic and bio-energies with medically detrimental effects on the other person. Have you touched anyone since this... accident at work?"

"No, I've been really careful." She held up her gloved hands.

"Cloth is a sufficient barrier?"

"Yeah. I used to warn people too so they wouldn't do things like touch my cheeks."

"And before the advent of Novomane, you lived with your mutation for seventeen months."

She saw where this conversation was going. "You're going to tell me to hang tight for six months, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry but yes. And even if we could give you more, your insurance won't cover it until the next fiscal year. The market value of each milligram is--"

"I know how much it'd cost," Marie snapped. She stood, slung her purse over her shoulder and held her arms close to her chest. "I'm sorry for wasting your time. Both our times."

"We have an excellent support group for--"

But Marie didn't want support. She wanted to get rid of her damned gloves again. Stalking out of the clinic was rude but she knew she'd break down again if she stayed there any longer. She wasn't a big enough ass to think that her condition required emergency doses but, dammit, this damn power would steal her life away again in paper-thin layers so subtle, she wouldn't notice until her soul rubbed raw. She couldn't live without touch again nor with the constant fear that she'd hurt someone and they'd scream at her from inside her head. Not again.

* * *

The office laptop along with her security key provided access to a database of all the controlled substances in NYPD lock-up. Marie searched the lock-up database for Novomane stores that night, covered head to toe with the fans blasting in her apartment. There weren't many dealers on the East Coast; those that existed had been lifted from out-of-towners. Still, they were there. If she looked around at One Police Plaza, no one would question her, not with her excellent work record and her current case files. There were so many things in lock-up, no one really kept track of it all. She listened into water-cooler talk. Sometimes, little things got misplaced and people turned a blind eye. Those vials of Novomane were pretty small...

Her phone rang. "D'Ancanto."

"Marie? It's Warren. Warren Worthington."

"Warren, hi! Look, I haven't gotten anything for you yet. It's been kind of a crazy few weeks."

"That's all right. I actually called because I have something for you."

"Oh?" Marie shifted on the couch. "What's up?"

"I had dinner with my dad today," he began incongruously, "Nothing official, just catching up. Funny how much better we get along when we live apart."

"Don't we all wish," said Marie, thinking of Storm.

"He told me something quite strange. Apparently, he was contacted by a member of the NYPD Forensics department regarding some substances which I assume were found at a crime scene. They didn't give him much information. Probably to protect the case, right?"

Marie opened a new browser on her laptop. "Did they tell you which lab specifically?"

Warren rattled off a serial number which Marie typed into the search engine. The NYPD database spat out a list of open cases. One of them was hers. She followed the link to the full description of the case file. It was the impounded car with the vials sewn into the passenger seat, the car possibly owned by a ziff dealer. The one that brought Lykos and his stupid powers into her life. "I called that one in to you the other day."

"I know, but Dad doesn't. He told me they needed an expert in Novomane," said Warren. "That's the reason he was on the East Coast; being one the few living creators of the drug, they wanted him to look at some samples and confirm what they were seeing."

"Which was?"

"A bastardised version of Novomane. Tweaked a little here, inserted into an inert virus there. Apparently, the design was similar to something on the company's drawing board but they dismissed the vector as too short-lived."

"I wouldn't be too surprised at a black market in Novomane-clones," said Marie. "With the caps the FDA put on the drug, it's as controlled as narcotics."

"Marie, this wasn't a clone. This is honest to God, Worthington Avent-Smythe Novomane. It's probably the third or fourth batch after the Alcatraz incident."

"How do you know?"

"Because of what Novomane is. It's DNA-- Jimmy's DNA-- slightly modified for gene therapy. The black market frankensteins the genes from different sources but this one's authentic."

"So someone in the actual company is selling Novomane."

"Yes. A highly unstable version. Whoever buys this stuff will probably nullify their powers for a short period of time, even shorter than the temporary effects of the first batch. And that's the good news. Who knows what the side-effects of the other material could be?"

"Other material?" Marie repeated.

"The serum for the drug isn't standard. I have no idea what that stuff's supposed to be for but my dad guarantees it has nothing to do with Novomane's effects."

"Maybe it's just a preservative."

"Maybe," said Warren. "I don't want to think about the possibility that they're weaponizing that stuff again no matter how lucrative the contracts."

Marie shivered. "Lucrative huh?"

"The military funds a lot of thing. For the right price, private companies can whip up anything the public sector needs. Did you know in World War II, all the USA-based pharmaceutical companies joined the military effort to create a super soldier serum?"  
  
"Uh-huh. And that's relevant information for..."

"A game of Trivial Pursuit, Detective."

"Right." She pursed her lips. "Neither confirm nor deny, right? Any case, I'll look into the lab results at work tomorrow. Let's catch those assholes before they hurt someone, right? Speaking of assholes, I'm sorry I don't have anything solid for you about the Guild. Unless they're involved in this."

The other end of the line went quiet.

"Warren?"

"You may be onto something."

Marie exhaled. "I was joking."

"What other organization would be powerful enough to steal a highly guarded, highly controlled substance and modify it for street use?"

"It didn't take a genius to come up with cough syrup abuse, Mr. Mayor. But really, thanks for helping us process that sample," she added to soften her sarcasm. "That kind of information will narrow things down."

"Are you going to investigate Worthington Avent-Smythe?"

Marie didn't answer.

"Of course you are." She could imagine him running a hand through that pretty blond hair of his. "If they cooperate, will you keep the name off the record?"

"Warren, I can't discuss all the details of an investigation with you."

"I _gave_ you the info!"

"That makes you an informant not a cop. Look, I'll pour everything else that I have into this Guild business, how about that?"

"I guess that's as good as I'm going to get," said Warren. "It's just that... he's still my dad, y'know?"

"I know," said Marie, thinking back on Bobby sobbing in the morgue while Johnny laughed gruesomely at them both.

Nitrile gloves were best for work, Marie decided the next morning. They were everywhere, thus easy to replace, and thin enough for her to do work properly. Sure, her myriad of gloves provided a façade of fashion in high school but a cop couldn't worry too much about looking pretty. She clipped her hair away from her face but left it otherwise loose around her neck. Scarves at work made it too easy for a perp to strangle her so hair would have to do.

They did stare when she came in but, she told herself, at least half of those stares were because of her meltdown, not her powers. Her workmates had never seen her absorb anyone. They hadn't developed the habit of recoiling when she passed by. Not yet. Marie smoothed the gloves over her hands. She didn't have seams. How strange not to feel seams.

"You had a two-day leave," said Charlotte.

"I only needed one," Marie replied.

"You didn't even take that. That was half a day at most."

"I'd've gone crazier at home. I need to work." She flopped on her chair. "Give me work."

Charlotte threw a stapled document to her side of the desk "I have five pages of phone numbers for following-up on possibly mutant-aided burglaries around District X. Enjoy."

"Aren't we expecting lab results about those vials we found in the car?"

"Right here." Charlotte waved at a much thicker stack. "Just came through. You bribe someone in the lab?"

"I'm just that awesome. Let's have a look." Marie came around the desk to peer over Charlotte's shoulder. The first three pages listed chemicals found in the vials from highest to lowest concentration. A fourth, unprinted page, contained a spectral analysis of these concentrations on a colour-coded waveform graph.

"I feel like I've seen this pattern before," said Charlotte.

Marie nodded, tapping her chin.

"Let me bring up the usual suspects and if we can't figure it out, I'll call down to the lab for a comparative analysis against any substance with high concentrations of--"

"Ziff!"

Charlotte blinked at her.

"It kind of looks like ziff," Marie repeated. "I remember from the briefing we had after the fire. One of the slides was a spectral analysis of ziff components and I'm positive it matches this. Or at least comes real close."

"You were awake for that?" But Charlotte had already brought up her copy of the presentation. In a few moments, she had captured the graph from their mystery vial analysis and superimposed it on the presentation's graph.

"It's not a perfect match," said Marie, disappointed. "The concentrations on these trace materials are totally off."

"But these high concentrations look close enough that I want to ask for a comparative analysis anyway. Just in case." Charlotte elbowed Marie's waist. "If you're gonna lead a case, you gotta have more faith in your gut feelings, rookie. That _is_ what we're investigating these guys for."

"So maybe Lykos wasn't bullshitting us with that Griegry guy. I'll start a name search on-- hey, do you think we can do a fingerprint residue analysis on the vials?"

Charlotte grinned. "That's what I'm talking about, D'Ancanto. You said there was, what, three dozen vials in that car?"

"Forty. Dusted and bagged in lock-up but only four of them had any prints and they weren't enough to be searchable on IAFIS."

"We could still look for trace components in their system. Shit, does ziff even leave trace?"

"The worst they can say is no, right?" Marie returned Charlotte's grin, last night's worries momentarily forgotten. "As to the major component, my contact told me that this Novomane is legit. Discard from Worthington Avent-Smythe. One of the manufacturing facilities is just down in Jersey."

Charlotte whistled. "Stolen."

"But is it an inside job or not?"

"Only one way to find out."

"One warrant, coming up." Marie pulled one up from the files and started to fill it in. "So here's what I think: At some point in creating Novomane, the folks at Worthington figure out how to give powers instead of take it away. That has a lot of military uses but no-one was paying at the time. Everyone was anti-mutant so it was risky. When mutants became trendy, someone else steals the anti-Novomane, mixes it up with whatever they can find in the medicine cabinet and has a ball. You get powers _and_ a high."

"Sounds like something we can prove," said Charlotte. "Send the warrant with our report so far and we're golden."

"Think we'll get approved?"

"For what we're asking? Hell no. But even a partial's good enough for now. Any evidence we can scrape up might convince the judge to change his mind."

As she took her seat, Marie commented, "You'd think people that smart would find ways to be productive members of society."

"At fifty dollars for a strip of three, they made the correct financial choice. They don't even get taxed on the income."

"Ha, ha. You kiss your boy with that cynicism?"

"This coming from the woman who rolls her eyes at every Xavier Institute commercial."

"They're dumb commercials."

"Your face is a dumb commercial."

Marie stuck her tongue out at Charlotte. She retaliated by throwing an pen cap at Marie's head. The eraser bounced and landed in Ziegler's coffee. Ziegler fished the cap out and lobbed it carelessly yet somehow unerringly into a nearby pen holder. Thus began MacTac's first basketcap game.  
  
#

Most of the high wore off by lunch, when they'd done all the calls possible in that first half hour. For now, the Mystery Vial case was a waiting game until their leads called in. The rest of morning shift comprised of phone and email follow-ups and consultation briefs from other precincts suspecting mutant-related crimes. Desperate to get some life back, Marie offered to run down the street for take-out.

"I prefer the gyros over in Queens. You want authentic, you got it there."

Marie paused briefly, recognizing Gambit's voice. She walked away as though uninterested, taking information in all the while. He had drawn away from a gaggle of double-dutchers and their admirers. A nondescript, late model sedan slowed down a touch as it passed. Across the street, a woman in an oversized jacket suddenly stuck her hands in her pockets.

Gambit fell in step with her. "The good senator's on his way up here for a conference. Seems like a good time to get things rolling 'specially considering the little hiccough in your life." He snapped the edge of her glove.

"You got rock solid ones to be bothering me two blocks from the police station," she snarled at him.

"Sha, I am that good. And also," he added in response to her snort, "that sure you'll take the contract. You heard the man. He wants to make it illegal to be a mutant."

"You don't strike me as the type of person who'd be willing to kill for your beliefs. If you even have beliefs."

"Damn, you got me pegged. What're you, some kind of detective?"

Marie rolled her eyes. The station was across the street. Hopefully, he'd be too busy being pleased with himself to notice. "I'm sure there are people out there more willing than me to do the job. Why don't you look for them?"

"You're special, sha."

"You realise at your age, pick-up lines stop being sexual harassment and just become pathetic."

"I mean it." He placed a hand on her forearm, not rough, not tugging. Almost friendly. "Listen, I went to you before other people did. People who won't be as nice about asking."

Disconcerted, Rogue didn't pull away. She stopped to face him fully, as fully as she could when he had a fedora and a pair of shades on. "You break into my place twice, try to blackmail me and now you're supposed to be my friend?"

"I wouldn't go so far as that, Detective. I am many things but I got no interest in unnecessary bloodshed."

"Barring assassination attempts."

"I said 'unnecessary' bloodshed. Tell you what; you do this for me, I give you payment and your medicine back."

"And if I refuse and arrest you right now?"

"That any way to treat a friend?"

Marie turned to walk away. This time, Gambit stayed in his place. "You walk now, the whole NYPD finds out you been nicking black market Cure."

"You'll have a tough time proving it since I haven't done that."

"Easy as planting a gun at the crime scene, Detective."

He _could_ do it; he broke into her apartment easily enough. Sweat dampened Marie's armpits and spine. She could lose so damn much because of this goddamn man but before she had time to change her mind, three plain-clothes officers melted out of the crowd and surrounded him, holsters unbuttoned and it was too late. Things were in motion.

Marie held up her phone as a bluff. "Thanks for telling the whole station about it. You're under arrest for conspiracy to murder, attempt to extort an officer of the law, fashion faux-pas, unlawful trespass, breaking and entering, stalking, and whatever else I can hit you with, asswipe."

Gambit eyed the men surrounding him. "You got me. You're as good as I hear. I surrender." He held up his hands. One of the officers immediately pulled out his cuffs and grabbed him. Marie spotted the magenta flash in Gambit's eyes a split second too late. The cuffs touched his bare wrist.

"Wait!"

He moved so quickly no one could react at first. Magenta arced around the cuffs. The officer holding it pulled back reflexively. Gambit yanked the cuffs out of his hand, increasing the explosive glow. The chain links popped, like firecrackers, and now he had two projectiles.

"He's armed!" Marie yelled. "Everyone get back!"

The remaining officers created a perimeter; one had a hand on his walkie to call back-up. It wouldn't be long in coming considering a few of their co-workers had already stuck their heads out of the windows to have a look at the commotion.

"This here? This is unnecessary bloodshed," said Gambit.

"Put the cuffs down," said Marie.

Sirens screeched from around the corner. A line of dark blue covers and button-ups inched their way down either sidewalk, some splitting away to cordon off the situation as the rest joined Marie.

Gambit held his fighting stance with the two parts of the cuffs in his hands, glowing almost white-hot with energy. "Prove me you're the wrong one for the job, sha. Let me get away again. Or prove fate right and tell them to shoot me. 'Cause I was totally lying about surrendering."

Marie glared. "Let me talk to him, guys."

The officer closest to her started but, seeing her expression, gave a slow nod. "I have your back, Detective."

She approached slowly. "You risked a lot to talk to me this time around. I guess a lot is on the line, huh?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. The cuffs crackled.

"You're just the messenger, right? You're risking all of this 'cause the Powers That Be said you had a job to do and it's your ass if you don't do it." She inched closer. "They ask for your loyalty and they give you perks but after all these years, they still have you on their string. You're still not calling the shots. And now they've made you a fall guy for a plan that can't possibly work." Closer again. "Do I have that about right, Gambit? It doesn't have to be that way. Help me and I can help you."

"To paraphrase your own sweet self: you beat me up, you call the cops on me and now you're supposed to be my friend?" He shook his head. "I been at this at a long time, sha, since you was dandling on your daddy's knee. For all you been at that fancy school and trained for MacTac, you don't know a thing I can't get around before my second cup of coffee."

"That right?" Only four feet away now, close enough to distinguish the scant white whiskers on his jaw from the rest.

"Mais sho'."

Marie waited for the rest of his usual flirtatious come-backs. He only kept grinning. The gawkers had multiplied by a factor of ridiculous "You're not going to come quietly, are you?"

"Not unless you ask nicely."

"Please."

"Say it like you mean--" Marie cut off the rest of his taunt by covering his mouth with her bare hand.

Ten years. She knew after even a few months of no activity, muscles atrophied. Multiply that by ten years and even the bones wasted away. She'd met a few people in wheelchairs with legs vastly disproportionate to their arms from lack of use. If they suddenly regained the ability to walk again, those legs couldn't keep them up. Heck, it would probably hurt to even try.

Ten years and she had suddenly regained her powers. The professor was going to call it tactile empathic emulation, like naming it would give her control. But she was no Adam and her powers were a helluva lot wilder than any beast in Eden. It roared through her now, icy-fire coating her skin, seeping into her pores, rocketing to her brain. She'd forgotten-- how the hell could she have forgotten?-- the _bigness_ of absorption. The double vision, the rush of memories in a barely discernible mush of senses and emotion, the shifting of her organs as new abilities seared her body, and not-so-deep-down inside, her own mental voice wailing, panicked. All of this compressed into seconds, with each passing tick of the clock increasing the onslaught.

Marie held on, frozen in a scream.

* * *

_Unlike most buildings in New Orleans these days, Brasserie Les Halles in the heart of the French Quarter truly dated back to the Antebellum South. Hurricane Katrina did a fine job of messing it up but the politicians made the restaurant a figurehead in the rebuilding to the detriment of the rest of the city. It should've bothered Remy more. It did bother him but he'd blocked all that sentimentality out long ago. Job hazard, that._

_He popped another itty-bitty sandwich whole into his mouth and gestured for a server to pour him another excellent cafe au lait. Information streamed upward on one side of his digital tablet; the other side played a randomized animation set to AC/DC's Highway to Hell_ _. The tuxedo-clad server poured his cafe au lait, wiping a nonexistent droplet from the spout with a pressed linen napkin. The intimate private room kept prying eyes and ears out as well as show off the owner's impeccable collection of Norman Carlberg sculptures, most of which Remy himself had acquired for the hotel._

_"Don't you look almost housebroken." As always, Belladonna approached with nothing to herald her save the prickling of the hairs on the nape of his neck. She dragged her manicured nails-- dark purple today-- through his hair and dropped a kiss on his cheek. "Hello, cher."_

_He kissed the gold band on her left hand._

_Her long-time lover, Salvatorre, standing just to her left and half a step behind, growled. "Get your filthy hands off her, Lebeau."_

_He rolled his eyes. "You look good, Belle. Botox suits you."_

_"You get more and more insufferable the farther your hair recedes," Belle retorted._

_He resisted the urge to check a mirror. "Please, have a seat while your oversized pet slobbers on your bootheel."_

_"Lebeau!" Salvatorre started forward but he froze at Belle's raised hand._

_"I told you not to pay him any mind, my love. You know how mutts growl when they're too toothless for their bites to be worth anything. How_ _is life as the jet-set, Remy? Boned celebutants lately?"_

_"Now, now, you know I keep many parts in my life private, including that. It's why I'm best in the business."_

_Belle arched her neck back to down her first espresso then ordered a cafe au lait as well. Salvatorre took an aromatic black tea blend made to his specifications with drop each of milk and honey. A pair of servers replenished the towered holders with finger sandwiches, bite-sized pastries and ramekins then shuffled out, locking shutting the door firmly. They knew not to disturb this party until they were called for._

_"What do you have that's so important?" Remy asked._

_"Ain't that just like you, wanting out as soon as I come to the party."_

_"If I recall correctly, sha, you want me out of the city just as much. Can't be queen with the king still in residence. You're welcome, by the way. Again. And your little dog, too."_

_"You'd've been a piss poor King," snarled Salvatorre. "Thanks to Belladonna, the Guild's reach is stronger and wider than ever before. You only ever been interested in spending your daddy's money instead of learning how to earn it."_

_"Belle, is your pitbull actually lecturing me on family and business ethics?" asked Remy. "He does realise our main services are theft, hits, prostitution, and drugs? We ain't exactly trading shares on the NASDAQ."_

_"Salvatorre is passionate about the Guild which is more than I can say about you," Belle spat back. "You have no honour, no respect--"_

_"Gild it all you want but we're scum incorporated. I choose to value the unhypocritical aspects of our lives, mainly, money." Remy studied his hands. "Now do you got a job for me or did you ring this tab up just to play Hilton?"_

_"We have a hangnail. A little one, but it's getting more and more annoying. You need to find someone to get rid of it."_

_Salvatorre messaged a price tag to Remy's tablet. He whistled. "Mighty big hangnail there."_

_"His background and position made him useful but he's beginning to think he's bullet-proof," said Belle. "He's a tool, nothing more, and it's time to discard him for a better model. A_ _much better one."_

_"For this much money, I'll off him myself."_

_Snorting, Salvatorre said, "Don't be silly, Lebeau. You're too squeamish to get your hands dirty."_

_Remy ignored him. "Gonna need three-quarters up-front instead of the usual half if you want the perfect killer."_

_"You sweet-talker, you. Do it," she told Salvatorre._

_"But--" her lover protested._

_"Do it, cher. Gambit works better when he's loaded. Comes from being a street rat."_

_"Always so charming, chou-chou."_

_Belle bared her teeth at him. "Make him disappear before winter. Drop any other assignments if you have to. I want him gone."_

_She left, leaving Remy with a folder of information. He peeked in it, committing the face and name to memory. Simon Trask, United States Senator, stared past his left shoulder as though aware of the hidden camera. Remy took a cigarette from a chest pocket, shook one out to the corner of his lip and charged the tip. Smoke tangled around his hair. He looked up from the file._

_"Now to find my perfect killer."_


	5. Chapter 5

Marie awoke, bolting upright in a scream. A second scream, sharper and shorter, joined hers, pulling her out of disorientation. Charlotte sat back down on her chair, a hand to her chest.

"What the hell, woman?!"

Panting, Marie looked around. Bedrails, linoleum floor and in-wall medical equipment-- she was in a hospital. She tried to locate a hurt-- had she gotten shot?-- but only felt an overall ache. Maybe she'd been in an accident. The patient across the room caught her eye and information came back. Remy Lebeau AKA Gambit, member of the Guild and on a first-name basis with the head of the organization, named-- She winced and rubbed the sudden piercing ache at her temple.

"You always get knocked out when you used your powers?" asked Charlotte.

"N-no," Marie replied. "This was especially intense."

Dr. MacTaggert pushed open the side curtains, coughing delicately into her shoulder. "I'm sorry I'm late; the Legacy Clinic was even busier than normal today. Good evening, Detective. Not been the best few days, has it?"

"Not even close."

Charlotte stretched and rose from her chair. "Your screaming works better than an alarm clock. My mom's gonna be pissed I dumped Timmy on her so long."

"God, Char, get the hell home! How's your boy supposed to cure cancer if you're here watching my fool head?"

Laughing, Charlotte bent down to give her a hug then paused. Marie hated the uncertainty and fear in her eyes so she socked Charlotte playfully instead to break the awkwardness.

"See you tomorrow," said Charlotte.

"I better."

Dr. MacTaggert offered an escort to the lobby which Charlotte declined. When the clinic doors slid closed, the doctor paid Marie her full attention. "Bobby and Ororo briefed me on your powers. I also rushed your bloodwork from the other week. My fear was that you had contracted ALD and this fainting spell was a manifestation of the disease."

Marie's throat closed up. "So?"

"I don't see the usually markers for ALD."

And she could breathe again.

"--but there are some irregularities that I hope you can help clear up. I said the _usual_ markers for the Legacy Virus weren't present in the sample but there were some, shall I say, unusual components that I haven't seen elsewhere. It may mean nothing; mutants don't always react to infective microorganisms in a predictable manner. Specifically, you have extremely high levels of unconjugated Novomane, far higher than what I would predict considering your first and only recorded dose was ten years ago."

Not knowing how to react, Marie just nodded. MacTaggert returned her stare. Marie bit her lip, released it and bit it again. She twiddled her fingers then pressed out a wrinkle in her blanket. She couldn't meet the doctor's eye.

"Marie, I'd like to remind you that as a physician, everything you tell me will be under the strictest of confidences except in extreme cases where you may hurt yourself or others. I know you don't usually faint when using your powers nor are you helpless to disengage from the person you choose to absorb. If you've somehow contracted a new strain of ALD, I need to be able to backtrack everything that may have affected your health. Please, Marie. I need your help."

Marie confessed.

* * *

The significance of Logan's absence in the clinic should have rung klaxons in her head earlier but Marie cut herself some detective slack considering the past twenty-four hours. She rolled her shirtsleeves over her gloves and slipped on her favourite sneakers to look for him. Dr. MacTaggert had given her to okay to get out of bed although she had to stay another night for observation. Upstairs had Bobby, Storm and a bunch of memories she'd rather not revisit (including the company dinner the other month), but Logan was there, too, and dammit she missed the hairy old man.

Xavier's Institute's success meant extensions to the family homestead but Ororo's discriminating eye ensured the additions blended well with the original building. The clinic was the most obvious change. It stood where the pool house once was with easily five times the space. The medical and genetics laboratory occupied the third floor. In-patient and examination rooms took up the first two floors. Marie passed by a large, orange Quarantine sign over one of the rooms. She peered in. Six beds crammed into a space made for four. Machines traced their vitals, lines poked out of their bodies into bags of medicine, food and hydration solutions. Half needed oxygen masks. All of them moaned in pain. She walked away quickly.

A glass and stone walkway connected the two buildings on the first floor and that was the route Marie took to search for Logan. After being incorrectly directed to the wrong room several times, she finally made her way to the sub-basement where the tinny guitar hook of a classic rock song thrummed down the hall. She found Logan in the Council Room, arms crossed, staring up at digital maps. Multicoloured dots clumped over the largest map, one of the USA.

"I guess you've been busy coordinating things," she said. "You're looking pretty damn comfy in those leader pants. Who'd've thought, huh?"

Logan turned his head. The blankness of his expression sent her heart thudding.

"You're angry with me," Marie guessed. "Is it because I don't visit any more? You know I hate butting heads with Storm. And besides, what's stopping you from visiting me? I'm the one with the nine-to-five now."

"Where did you get the admantium bullets?"

She blinked. "Whuh--what?"

"The bullets, Marie. The one thing that could kill me. The ones you used to take down Pyro. I found it in a wall after his attack. Are they standard MacTac gear now?"

"No! No-one on the force knows I have them."

"So _you've_ bought adamantium bullets specifically for... for what, Marie?"

"It's complicated."

"Then use small words," he bit out.

"Mr. Summers had them," she said, the words coming out in a rush. "He had... I think he had them from that time in Alkali Lake. He never... He didn't do anything with them; he just had it in a box in his toolbox for the Blackbird and I helped him a lot with it and with the garage and when I found it, it was like he'd forgotten then were there. He told me to give it to you." She took a breath. Logan still refused to face her. "I was going to. I was... you remember what he was like. I thought he kept them 'cause he wanted to kill himself or maybe you, and you were pretty out of it, too, so I didn't think it was the right time to give it. Then the whole Alcatraz thing happened and I got the Cure then I moved out and the bullets went with me. Logan, I'd never use them against you! You believe me, don't you?"

"So that day with Pyro, you just happened to have them in the trunk?"  
  
A light magenta charge skated over the leather of her chair. Marie reeled it in best she could. "No."

She didn't say any more, forcing Logan to turn around to make eye contact. "Then tell me what the hell is going on, Marie. You never visit and when you do, you knock down everything Xavier's is about. Now you're sick and Moira says you don't even want me to know why."

"It's--"

"Complicated?" He shook his head.

"Look, I'm not the only one who's let things slide. You hear what Storm says about me, about my decisions and you never say a thing! You didn't go to my graduation from the police academy and the last time you drove down to Brooklyn, it was to pick up a new student that, by the way, I called in to the school. So don't even try to make me feel like the goddamn bad kid when you haven't been that great of a dad either!"

Magenta spikes of energy jumped all over the table, leaping from pens to cups and along the table's edges. One of the pens exploded but the charge barely scorched the surface. At the far end, a set of paperclips rattled and shot out against the wall. Marie's eyes went hot. Fisting her hands, she willed the charges away. It was a matter of mentally ironing out the molecular bonds in the charged object. That was Gambit's voice talking in her head.

Logan took a few steps back. He dropped into a chair, or fell into it, stricken. Marie didn't feel any better.

"After--" He coughed the roughness out of his voice and started again. "After Alkali, I had to pick up Summers' slack. It was... she would've wanted me to, y'know? Jean. And you, too. Every time we talked on the phone while I was out looking for that damned base, you'd go on and on about how great the school was and how much fun you were having. Half the conversation was about Summers' shop class. I was half-expecting to see you come out in a cardigan and sensible heels."

Marie snorted.

"You're so damned independent, kid. You got the Cure, to hell with what everyone said, then struck it out by yourself. I've never been more proud of everything you've accomplished on your own. But I guess I'm not like that anymore. I had over fifteen years of being on my own. Call me nuts but having all these crazy idiots tripping me up is pretty damn fun."

"Wolverine, domesticated," she teased.

He shook his head. "No, just finally home. All thanks to you, Marie. My whole life changed for the better the minute you snuck into my trailer."

Oh God. Marie sniffled once and tried not to do it again because she was twenty-eight years old, dammitall. "They make me feel better."

Logan blinked.

"I don't know why. I think it's because you're made of adamantium and also they belonged to Mr. Summers and I think... I really think he was going to use them, Logan. I stopped him so I kept it and... I have eight. I had eight. Before Pyro's attack, I only ever used one of them. In the field range. No one else knows what they are, I swear."

He blinked again. Held his arms out. Marie rushed into his embrace, clutching at his ubiquitous flannel shirt that smelled of cigars and finally felt at comfortable in her old home. She missed this, missed the hairy old man looking after her even when she didn't need it any more. She missed looking for him.

"So, you're still Rogue?"

"That depends," she drawled, "Do I owe you money?"

Logan stilled.

"What?"

"Say that again."

"I owe you money?"

He grabbed her shoulders. "Not like that. Not that way. Your accent... it sounded like someone I knew once."

"Pre- or post-amnesia?"

"I'm not sure."

The tail end of her memory-- Remy's memory-- flashed to the front of her mind. "Well, you better get sure because I just absorbed someone old enough to have known you that long. He calls himself Gambit and crazy as it sounds, he's part of a huge gang called--"

"The Guild," Logan finished.

Marie threw her hands up. "I should just come straight to you for all things covert."

"What are you doing messing with the Guild?"

"I'm a cop. The Guild is like the mean old witch in the gingerbread house. Which is to say fake as a three dollar bill until recently. What do _you_ know about it?"

Logan honest to goodness scuffed the floor with his boot. "I did a job for them, a long time ago. It was pretty soon after I lost my memory. Gambit was the only person who knew me and could be trusted." He checked himself. "He was the best of the worst at least."

"What kind of jobs?" Marie asked.

"Transporting packages. They didn't trust me to do any of the big things."

She crossed her arms, leaning away. "And what, exactly, are the big things?"

"What have you heard about the big things?" Logan said cautiously.

Marie started tapping her foot. Charged dust motes popped around the floor.

"Fine, fine, you cleared for a walk outside?" She wasn't, but Marie followed him to the east acreage anyway where the trees and underbrush made for challenging horse trails. Once inside the denser part of the bush, he spoke once more. "You gotta tell me how much you know. Even as a transporter, I have oaths to follow and it ain't worth risking the Institute's safety for me to spill."

Scrunching up her forehead, she slowly put the jumble of absorbed memories into a somewhat coherent narrative. "Gambit's important. He... doesn't have one role but the big shots, Belle and Salvatorre, talk to him a lot. He doesn't have a home. No, that's not right, he doesn't stay at the Guild's home base. He's not... he's exiled?" She rubbed her forehead. "It's still pretty foggy. He remembers you. He says... keep your eyes on the clouds when you fly."

Logan looked nonplussed. "That's probably Guild code but I never used it. Twenty-five years ago when I worked for them, they weren't incorporated into one Guild. There were four separate groups: Thieves, Assassins, Hookers and Dealers. Each guild had a couple states under them. Some even fought for territory."

"So what made them one big happy family?"

"Beats me. Why don't you ask Gambit?"

Marie rolled her eyes. "He's got a slight case of comatose right now and frankly, I'd like to keep it that way. The man would flirt with a hole in the wall."

"Did he try anything?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle so you can just go on and stop bristling."

"You said they want to hire _you_ for a hit?" Logan rubbed his whiskers. "That doesn't make sense. The Assassin's Guild is the best. They're fucking scary. When they do a hit, no one hears it. Most people don't even know it's a hit unless publicity is part of the plan. They take pride in doing a job two hundred times better than the average person. Why would they hire out?"

"I'm a good shot," said Marie.

"I'm sure you are but you're still not an Assassin. They train the minute they can hold something in their hand. They all do: Assassins, Thieves, Dealers, even some of the Hookers."

"That's disgusting."

"They're not nice people." Logan searched his pockets for a cigar, cut it, lit it and took a deep puff to cleanse his mouth. "Gambit's a Thief. He specialises in breaking and entering."

"He sure as hell does," Marie said under her breath.

"He always did seem to have the boss' ear but I don't know those names. Then again, I wasn't in on everything that went on in the Guild. Not that I asked. I needed the money and Gambit was the only person who knew me who didn't seem to want to put a bullet through my head."

"So, he's a good guy."

"Not hardly. But he's ain't a complete scumbag."

"I guess that's not the worst recommendation for all the people floating around in my head," said Marie.

"Yeah, well--" Logan's phone beeped. He flipped it out of his case and cursed as he read the message. "I've got to go."

"Second job calls?"

He nodded. "Ziff party gone bad in Miami."

"How bad?"

"Playing with the fault lines bad." He pointed at her. "You don't go anywhere."

"Doc would fry my ass."

"Yeah, she can do that with her coffee." He ruffled her hair before running off. Marie decided not to take offence. Sure her thirtieth birthday was in viewing distance but the old man had at least a century on her. To his eyes, she would always just be a kid. His kid. And right now, she didn't mind that at all.

* * *

Although she felt well enough, Dr. MacTaggert didn't want Marie discharged until Gambit woke up as well. She still had his powers as well as his memories. Strange thing about those memories, too-- although they were jumbled, the scenes themselves had never been so vivid. She smelled the scents coming out of the diner outside his Manhattan apartment, distinct from the ones at the bakery in his childhood neighbourhood. She flushed remembering the first time he failed at a pinch and the repetitive, heated prick of a tattoo gun. The warmth of urine down her pants when Stryker's men strapped him on a dissecting table. Her knee throbbed from a landing gone wrong.

"How long does this usually last?" asked MacTaggert.

"We figured it at a two-to-one ratio, double whatever time I held on," Marie said. "It was a little crazier than that when my powers first catalysed though."

"Hmm."

"I hate it when doctors go 'hmm.'"

MacTaggert let out a tight smile. "That's what we do when we're not sure what the heck is going on."

"Probably why I hate it."

"If you're that curious, I can pull out my medicalese." She clicked around the main screen of her desktop array. Five different documents popped up on the three monitors. "That in the middle is a comparison of your blood against baseline human, a nullified mutant and a mutant with energy-based abilities. Your powers shouldn't affect blood serum composition but I wanted to be sure. If you look at yours against the nullified mutant, you'll see these." Little yellow dots appeared on Marie's results and the other nullified mutant; hers had far fewer yellow bits. "Those are serum proteins that have incorporated the Novomane therapy. Because it changes your DNA, some components of the added gene show up in certain proteins."

"So whatever it is that Lykos did stopped the gene therapy from working," said Marie.

"That appears to be the case although I couldn't tell you why. The first batch of Novomane was retracted because it was too potent. It couldn't be titrated for mutants who need certain powers to live. And, of course, there were the mutations that don't respond to the treatment."

"Why is that?"

"The honest and unsatisfying answer is I don't know," said MacTaggert. "We don't know exactly _how_ Novomane works to begin with so we don't know how to tweak it when it doesn't. Essentially, what Worthington Avent-Smythe did is a highly controlled version of throwing things at the wall to see what would stick. The Institute and our affiliates have to reverse engineer everything from that. But back to your blood work, take a look at this here." A few more little things lit up on the screen, blue squiggles and green spots. "The green blebs are the unconjugated components of Novomane."

"And the blue squiggles?"

"You said you didn't want me to say 'hmmm.'"

Marie pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I wish comparative studies were as quick as on TV but unfortunately, we've got only got two lab techs. I have to twist arms to get our samples processed in other facilities."

"Now you're talking my language," said Marie. "Most days it feels like MacTac processing is on some forensics B-list."

"But at least there's a list now. I remember when--"

A gentle, insistent pinging sounded through the clinic. Dr. MacTaggert snapped into attention. With one click, she turned all the monitors off and was down the hall in the fastest walk Marie had even seen.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Mission emergency," the doctor answered. She pressed her headset on. "Wolverine, status."

"I got a two mutants ODing on ziff. I've got one... shit, I've one guy whose skin is ripping off him. Frost's keeping the other one knocked out but I don't know how long she can keep it up long distance."

"Acknowledged. Put them in the second medical wing ASAP." To Marie, she said, "We'll continue our conversation--"

"I can help," Marie interrupted.

"I'll be having a hard enough time looking after three patients!"

"Look, ziff drives people's powers out of control. I absorb powers."

MacTaggert studied the set of her jaw then waved her along. The fastest elevators to the sub-basements were at the main building. They only broke into a sprint once the doors opened to the steel walls of X-Men headquarters. The doctor wore sneakers to work; considering her practice's demographic, that was probably wise.

They reached the hangar just as the Blackbird's ramp hit the floor. The landing was a little rough. Rogue wondered who piloted the jet and if they babied it as much as Mr. Summers did. The hangar rumbled again and she realised it wasn't the landing that made the floor shake.

"Are we having an earthquake?" she asked MacTaggert.

Logan ran down the ramp with a young man's body slung over his shoulder. "If we don't stabilise this guy, we'll be seeing a new fault in the East Coast. Emma's losing control of him."

Behind him, four X-Men helped another man-- a teenager really-- down the ramp. Greyish skin trailed behind him, leaving pale pink trails of lymph and blood. Prioritise. Marie reached out for the earthquake-generator first. He'd do the most damage.

"What are you--" Logan began.

But she'd already made contact. _"Ésta es la pura, güey. Carajo, tomé un poco anoche y, a todo dar, putas estrellas, carbon. Como si te metieran una sobrecarga."_

_"Suenas como un pinche cabrón/pendejo colocado de éxtasis. Dame eso."_

_"En serio, carbon, es pinche dulce."_ _[1]_

The earth reached up inside her through the soles of her feet and up her spine. Rock and soil felt as different as her left and right hand.

_So much for the land of opportunity. At least he was far away from his father and uncles here. Sure line-cooking didn't pay much but this was only the first step in--_

_She spoke to the planet. The earth shook in reply._

"Rogue! Get it under control!"

_He slid his hand down his partner's chest, his fingers skimming his beltline, his thumb playing with the rough hairs leading down where he wanted to go. Lips nibbled at his jaw. "¿Quieres que regresemos a mi casa?"_

He smiled.

Marie fell to her knees. The floor rippled. Spreading her fingers wide, she took a deep breath and imagined smoothness, sliding her hands out as though straightening a bedsheet. The rumbling stopped. The earth murmured its discontent and she shushed it. Smoothed it out. Calm, calm, calm.

Logan slid his arms around her shoulders and knees. "I got you, kid."

"The... other mutant."

"He's out and on a stretcher. You did good."

"No, no, the other one. His skin." Marie lolled her head back until she spotted the other stretcher. The boy couldn't even lie still in it, not with his skin pouring out and tearing his body with its weight.

"You contained the worst of it, you shouldn't--"

"He's going into shock," said Dr. MacTaggert.

Marie pushed out of Logan's arms and made for the stretcher.

"She's one of your fucking patients, too!" she heard Logan yell.

"So we break the connection before it gets too--"

Bobby helped her stay upright beside the second stretcher. Marie touched the boy's leather grey skin. Her own skin prickled, the pink leaching to grey before her eyes even as the boy's receded. Her arms flopped down from the heavier weight. Flaps of skin slapped the floor. The contact shook the hangar again while screws from the surrounding grate flooring began to glow magenta.

_"Llevo uno de los grandes y algo de cambio. ¿Tú?"_

_"Más o menos lo mismo. Yo ya estoy pasado, güey."_

_"¿Estás de chingada? ¡Vamos a probar la mercancía!"_

_"No carajo, que sabes que esa mierda me deja chingado. Trabajo mañana."_

_"No hasta las siete. No me seas sangrón, güey, vámonos de reventón, carajo."_ _[2]_

"Control it, Rogue," Logan ordered. "Control it now."

Sweat slicked down her back. "Not as. Easy. As that."

"You can do this, kid. I know you can."

Grunting, she imagined stuffing all the voices behind a door, like the exercises Dr. Grey did with her long ago, all the while keeping her body still in case she set off another explosion or earthquake. Still, the ground shivered under her feet and heat formed wherever her expanding skin touched.

"Knock me out," she told Logan.

"What?"

"Do it!"

He pressed his fists against the sides of her neck. Spots washed out her vision and she passed out again.

* * *

_"When you're on stage today I'm going to be looking up at you and be thinking one thing."  
"What's that?"  
"Please God don't let him trip."_

_"Senior proponents of the Citizen Protect Program arrived at the Second National Mutant Affairs Summit amidst cheers and protests. The leader of the program, Senator Simon Trask, had no statement for us preceding the event, saying only that the outcome of this summit would--"_

_"We've known each other for so long. Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it--"_

Marie turned to one side and puked. Dr. MacTaggert immediately shone a light in her eyes. "Your reactions are normal this time. Good."

"Is barfing a normal reaction? 'Cause I'm about to do that again."

"Last time your eyes were open, you spoke French by way of stoner. I'll take the barfing." She pulled a kidney basin out of nowhere and stuck it under Marie's chin.

"Did it work?"

"It most certainly did. We've isolated those two patients in the Danger Room as we do with most ziff overdoses but I'm certain it'll only be for observation. They're woozy but their powers are under control." MacTaggert sighed as she brushed her bangs away from her glasses. "That was one of the bravest, most stupid things I've ever seen."

"Can't have one without the other," said Marie.

"An all too unfortunate truth. God only knows what you did to your own condition, exerting yourself like that."

Marie observed her arms. "Did you poke me again?"

"Three more vials for your troubles. I'll be using your CBC arrays as my wallpaper for years I'm wagering."

"Whatever rocks your boat, Doc. Should I even ask about when I can go back to work?"

"Do you want to go to work with uncontrollable absorbed powers?"

"Duly noted." Marie fell back onto her pillow. "Gambit hasn't woken up yet? I couldn't've touched him for more than five minutes."

"As you said, your usual ratio of absorption is two-to-one but I suspect your increasing Novomane dosage has affected your abilities. I should have guessed with your shifting powers."

"I'm not a shape-shifter."

"Oh but you are," said MacTaggert. "Not our usual definition but you do change your body on contact with mutant humans. Look how your skin changed after absorbing Angelo. And the range at which you shift... even Mystique only physically resembles other mutants. She cannot actually fly like Mayor Worthington, for example, because her bone composition does not change. Nor is she bulletproof should she choose to mimic Pete or create ice like Bobby. You, however, can. And I have no idea how that's possible."

Marie shirked from the doctor's interested gaze. "A unique and beautiful snowflake. That's me. Are you saying I can't go back to work until everyone wakes up? What if they're all out for weeks like the first person I absorbed? I don't think I can take that many days leave and I've got bills to pay."

Dr. MacTaggert gave her a visual once over. "Another twenty-four hours of observation then Logan has to clear you for active duty. If you can get past his tests, you should be okay in a mixed crowd."

"Great. It'll be just like flunking my first driving test all over again. Maybe I should just ask Jones to bring me-- Hang on. Gimme the remote."

Bemused, MacTaggert did so. Marie flipped to the news channel. A newscaster's voice narrated the footage taken from earlier that morning. "Government officials and grassroots leaders alike will discuss the goals set in the first National Mutant Affairs Summit back in 2010. Early reports suggests that adjustments _will_ be made to the rulings created during that summit. However, the country is split quite evenly on whether these changes are positive or negative."

"What are you--"

Marie waved her hand, shushing the doctor.

"One of the most controversial attendees is Senator Simon Trask, head of the Citizen Protect Program which seeks to limit the positions occupied by mutants with dangerous powers. We take to the streets for--"

"He hired me to assassinate Trask," said Marie, pointing to the unconscious Gambit across the room. "Now that I've refused and he's out of commission, there must still be someone in the Guild acting as back-up. Someone needs to warn the senator and everyone at the summit."

"As much as I hate his politics, an assassination would make him a martyr not to mention reflect poorly on the mutant community," said Dr. MacTaggert. "I'll alert Logan."

"While you do that, can I borrow a laptop from one of the classrooms? I'm getting bored."

"You're going to work." MacTaggert sighed, turning her gaze heavenwards for divine intervention. "No wonder you and Ororo don't get along. Both bull-headed and determined to have things your own way. I suppose everything I said about resting has gone in one ear and out the other."

"I have to alert MacTac, too. Technically, it's a mutant-related crime."

"I'll have one of the students bring a laptop down. Anything else, Detective?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where my cellphone is, would you?"

"I do but I'll not give it to you unless you promise to limit your work to two-hour periods between three-hour rests. You've had unexplained bout of unconsciousness followed by a very much explained one. I should be taking an EEG of your brainwaves just to make sure everything's in working order."

Marie crossed her fingers. "Yes, ma'am."

"Liar. But I'll have the last laugh when you pass out in your soup. It's one of my favourite soups and I _will_ eat it off your tray." Dr. MacTaggert keyed a cupboard open and rummaged through the shelves, emerging with a "ha!" and Marie's phone in her hand. She gave it with the reminder, "Two hours."

"Two hours," Marie parroted, trying to look innocent.

But MacTaggert didn't bite. She walked away, muttering, "Always get those patients. What I wouldn't give for a nice, obedient hypochondriac."

Marie turned her phone on. Glowing icons informed her of five voice messages, twenty-seven emails, and eight new APBs. Six of the emails she could answer without her files; the rest she marked with an "Away From the Office" message. She tackled the voicemails next: one from the Captain asking after her health, one from the Captain's assistant reminding her of the procedures for injury on the job, a woman enthusiastically proclaiming she might already be a winner if she just gave them her credit card number, and the final two from Charlotte.

"Hey, D'Ancanto, you better be resting. If I get an email or a call from you in the next twenty-four hours, I'll make your rookie week seem like an all-expense-paid trip to Cancun. Don't worry about the Ziff Car Case. We've been punted down the priority list because of a triple homicide over in the Upper East Side but I'll keep at their backs. Get better."

A nurse-- Annie, according to her name tag-- put a chunky laptop on the bedside table, presumably fetched by a student. Marie waved her thanks and continued to listen to her messages.

"Hey, it's Jones again. The guys we picked up from District X want to talk but they're waiting for you. I'll try to convince them otherwise, maybe bring Everett or Zeigler in. Don't rush out of the hospital though; just wanted to let you know. Bye."

"Excuse me," Marie addressed the nurse. "Do you know if the Institute still has encrypted logs on its wi-fi?"

"Yes, they do," said Annie "You can always ask Kitty if she can set something up for you."

"Thanks, I will."

But Kitty might not get to it until later that day; Marie wanted her files right now. This was the part of the job they never put in the brochures, the powerless monotony of waiting. Guess MacTaggert was going to get her two-hours-only rest period after all. She puttered around on the internet and caught up on the latest bulletins on the NYPD website. After having her soup-- which was delicious for hospital food-- she napped only to wake up to the three shouting psyches in her head. All her favourite shows were on the recorder at home along with her movies, so she couldn't use them to drown their noise.

"Do you need a painkiller?" MacTaggert asked, seeing her rub her forehead.

"You wouldn't happen to have a tepe on-call, would you? The Professor or Dr. Grey used to help me with things like this but it's been years since I did any shielding exercises and I can't even remember my neutral space never mind create it on the astral plane."

"Oh! You mean for the people you absorbed." She tapped a pen against her teeth. "I'll have to call Emma Frost STAT."

"I appreciate it." Marie rubbed her temples again. "Oh man."

MacTaggert disappeared around the curtain, hopefully to make that call. The psyches increased in volume.

_"Don't you dare disrespect me in my own home again!"_

_"Don't worry! I won't ever come back home!"_

_Street lamps blurred past him, throwing reflections off the chrome of his bike. He remembered when he didn't wear a helmet on one of these things. Then again, he remembered how badass the speakers on his helmet were. He cranked the volume higher._

_"I have two shrimp appies! Tossed greens, hold the onions! Berry salad! Two beef: medium, medium rare!"_

_"Yes, chef!"_

_"Swing me next, Angelo, swing me next!"_

_"You want an around-the-world, little sister?"_

_"Yay!"_

Marie curled her knees up to her chin. She had to find her neutral space. Her neutral space. The mirror-calm of a sea. A lush islet, willows at its peak, anemones in the water. Herself, on a tire-swing hanging off one of those willows with just the tips of her toes getting wet. Ripples on the water catching sparkles off the sunlight.

_"Go. Now. Don't bother packing."_

_"That eager to get rid of me, Belle? Ink's barely dried on the papers."_

_"Fool! They'll kill you!"_

_He watched the Federales and the DEA beat his cousins and uncles half to death, feeling only a distant sort of satisfaction. He didn't turn them in out of revenge or a sense of duty to the law. He just wanted to leave. And now he could._

_"I have two scallop ceviche, one pumpkin amuse-bouche! Three house salad sides! One scampi, one peppersteak well done, one tropical rice bowl!"_

_New York City's orchestra of car horns, construction and humanity followed him as he wove between Manhattan's lunchtime gridlock. He stopped at a light. A woman in a fine suit, her hair tipping out of its knot, lifted her head up from sipping at her coffee cup. He grinned at her; she returned it with a wink. Days like this, he almost didn't miss New Orleans._

Gritting her teeth, Marie tried to overlay her neutral space over the memories. The waters of her sea crept spilled into the streets of Manhattan. It hissed on the stove elements of the tight Miami restaurant, extinguishing the flames. It licked at the edges of an inner city playground.

_"I want two seaside salads, one tossed salad--"_

_"Twenty a hit, fifty for a strip. Guaranteed experience-- you're base, right?-- yeah, this'll change your world."_

_Her tire swing flailed as the waves splashed against her knees. At the edges of her neutral space, the waves crashed against skyscrapers, sun-baked streets and restaurant tables._

_He attached a scrambler on opposite sides of the statue's base, deflecting the infrared lasers sweeping the room._

_"You sure I'm ready to meet Gris-Gris?"_

Marie snapped her head up, eyes wide. "Gris-Gris. Griegry. Oh shit. My phone, where's my phone?" She pushed the hospital tray out of the way, searching in the blanket folds. When she found it, she speed-dialled Charlotte.

"Aren't you sick?"

"Griegry's real!" she blurted out.

"Breathe, D'Ancanto, and keep your voice somewhere below squealing."

"The guy Lykos was blabbing about, Griegry, who supposedly stocks ziff for the whole state. He's for real."

Charlotte flipped thorough papers. "Uh-huh. You're working while you're sick in a hospital."

"No. Yes. Sort of. Look, I told you when I absorb people, I get some of their memories, too. Well, one of the guys--"

"Wait, you absorbed more people? When? Why?"

"It's kind of a long story that-- actually, it's a relevant story. They were a couple kids from Miami ODing on ziff so I skimmed the worst of it off--"

"Aren't you in the hospital _because_ your powers are on the blink?" Charlotte demanded. "Am I going to have to go up there and mother your ass?"

"Jones! Focus!" Marie yelled.

"I'm focussing! I'm focussing on my partner who's barely recovered from working a week straight, got stalked by a gangster, passed out flat after going into a seizure in the middle of the street and is probably still PTSD from using her weapon--"

Marie's head throbbed. "And I do appreciate it but this is a major lead in the case. Look into this and I swear I'll be a good patient."

"Yeah, and I got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you." Charlotte sighed. "Okay, so, tell me about Griegry."

"First of all, it's spelled G-R-I-S, dash, G-R-I-S. Gris-gris. It's French or something."

"Yeah-huh. French. You absorbed a French guy. I'm running the name through III right now."

"It might be an alias. Kind of like Gambit."

"Or the X-Men?"

She smiled wryly. "Yeah, like that."

There was a silence. Then, "I got nothing."

"Crap."

"No kidding. We're going to have to slog through NCIC. Hey, if the kids are from Miami and they know about a New York supplier--"

"It could be a multi-state organization like MS-13."

"That could explain the Maryland plates on the ziff car," said Charlotte. "They're moving things up and down the coast either making the drug or delivering raw material. Still no hits on Gris-Gris."

"Which means he's good or he's new."

"Or both."

"I hope it's not both," said Marie.

"I'll start making calls. Again. You better get better so you can help me."

"Ma'am, yes ma'am." As Marie hung up, she heard Charlotte snort disbelief. The name, the drug components, at least two known dealers and, paperwork willing, an investigation into Worthington Avent-Smythe's east coast facilities. Seemed like her whole world centred on Novomane.

The landscape of her neutral space roared into a cataclysm with fifty-foot tidal waves smashing the islet, the skyscrapers, the restaurant, the seaside and every other memory-plane in her mind or the others'. The phone dropped out of her hand as she curled on her side. The noises were too loud, a mash of English, Spanish, French, yelled, whispered, scolded, pleaded, while cars, motorcycles, boats zoomed past and lights from the billboards, strobe lights, the sun blinded her to the source of the exhaust, bathroom stalls, salt sea--

MacTaggert and Annie ran towards the sound of Marie screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: "It's the pure stuff, my friend. I fucking took some last night and was, fucking, tweaking stars, man. It's like being supercharged."  
> "You sound like a fucking e-tard. Gimme that."  
> "I mean it, man, it's fucking sweet."
> 
> 2: "I got a G and some change. You?"  
> "About the same. I'm done, man."  
> "You kidding me? Let's sample the goods!"  
> "Hell, you know that stuff messes me up. I got work tomorrow."  
> "Not until seven. Fuck, man, let's party."


	6. Chapter 6

"It's a right mess in here."

Marie opened her eyes. White surrounded her, endless white, very nearly camouflaging a woman dressed in tightly tailored white suit.

"Um. Who are you?"

"Emma Frost. I'm here to clean up." She crossed her arms. "But where to begin? Your baggage is quite something to behold."

"Thanks."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I caught that from the curl in your lip." Marie got up. Her bones ached. "What happened to me?"

"First, you were stuck in foetal position about to tear your hair out. When you snapped out of it, your body shifted merrily between powers. Last I checked, you were knotting metal medical equipment and setting the linens on fire."

"That's impossible. I absorbed those powers years ago. They're out of my system."

"Obviously not." Emma spun in a slow circle. "You have a good base, creating a neutral mindscape, but you don't have enough mental strength to maintain it. Not entirely your fault; living with telepaths tends to strengthen even baseline minds passively and, conversely, living apart weakens those shields."

"We have a telepath at work," said Marie.

"I'd suggest regular exercises with him or her. Meanwhile, let's see what I can do in here. Watch your step."

Squares sank under her feet, hollowing out into boxes. Emma strutted on the seams between them; Marie followed suit, minus the attitude. Some of the boxes melted together to create larger ones.

"I'm going to do this for you now but I want you to watch so you can do yourself from now on." Emma's grin imbued the sentence with innuendo. "Now where are those psyches?"

The nearest box darkened. Lumps sharpened into a large grill, steel-doored cupboards, a six-element stove top over low ovens, vegetables scattered over a marble island, a warming rack-- Emma didn't wait for the people-shaped shadows to coalesce before waving her hand over them. A translucent white sheet covered the box, trapping the memory.

One by one, Emma filled and covered the boxes, trapping memories she thought she'd lost in high school. Some never fully went into focus but they were there. They never went away. Marie didn't know whether she wanted to cry or punch a wall.

"Do this last one," Emma said. "It's quite old."

Tiny flowers sprouted on the sides of the box which melted into carpet as it reached the bottom. A white iron headboard rose up from the base, carrying with it a bed covered in pink and green striped sheets and brightly embroidered pillows. A shadow of a girl kneeled up on the bed, pointing at the wall. Her features were indistinct but her voice, unmistakable.

"--gonna to go up through the Rockies then head straight up to Alaska.," Marie's younger self proclaimed.

"Why d'you wanna do that?" asked an unseen voice. David.

"Because it would be an adventure, silly."

The shadow of teenage-Marie drew closer. Her lips came into focus.

Marie waved her hand over the little box, covering the memory just as David's whole world shrank into that one, anticipated moment.

"Well done," Emma said.

"How do I keep them that way?"

"I highly recommend regular training sessions and an end to that nasty Novomane habit." She covered her mouth. "Oh dear, did you think I'd miss that while I was sorting things out?"

"I get enough lectures from Storm, thanks," said Marie.

"While I believe power nullification is stupid, it's your life. I'm still pissed off that we can't smoke in restaurants any more. Triple the recommended dosage is a bit much, though. How much _do_ you hate yourself?" She studied her nails. "That was a rhetorical question; I don't actually care. Let's move on. I want to see how you handle the livelier ones."

"I appreciate that so much." Sarcasm coated her words. Her next sentence held a little more trepidation. "So, you're held under the same patient-doctor confidentiality, right?"

"I'm no doctor," said Emma. "But I know the value of indebtedness. I'll keep your secret, Detective. Just know that at some point in the future, I'll come to collect."

* * *

On Day Four post-absorption, Marie returned to MacTac headquarters. While she didn't quite leave against medical advice, Dr. MacTaggert had given explicit instructions to stay away from work for the rest of the week. Gambit still hadn't awakened and while the two boys, Angelo and Julio, were conscious, they had trouble accessing their powers consistently. Marie managed to lounge at home until after lunch when Charlotte updated her on the Ziff Car case.

"We didn't get approval on the five-day search warrant for the Worthington Avent-Smythe facilities in California which I pretty much expected but the judge okayed a warrant for access to their staff list. We can at least look for the name there."

"I getcha. You're thinking Gris-Gris works for Worthington and sells Novomane on the sly to make ziff," Marie said.

"Got it in one. I've got forty-eight hours to go through the directories; I'm supposed to get access to the database by two this afternoon. So much for making it to Timmy's parent-teacher meeting."

"I'll be right over to help you out with that." She hung up before Charlotte could protest.

Her partner scolded her half-heartedly when she came in, but within ten minutes the only sound coming from their desks was key-tapping. Marie hadn't known how large Worthington Avent-Smythe was. Its two dozen health care, toiletry and cosmetic subsidiaries produced nearly everything in her bathroom. Forty-eight hours didn't feel like enough time. Charlotte disappeared for two hours in the evening for the parent-teacher meeting but returned with take-out dinners.

"Any luck?"

"Nothing but I'm still in the medical facilities," said Marie. "Maybe we should cut out the cosmetics companies, or at least punt them down the bottom of the list. We need people who have access to Novomane. Cosmetics are a bit of a stretch."

"Good idea. But keep looking through packaging and shipping, too. It'd be just as easy to 'lose' a box of rejected meds in a delivery van as it is in the lab."

"What about military contracts?"

"With pharma?"

"One of my snitches told me about military-funded drug experiments back in the day."

"Like the LSD, ESP stuff that the conspiracy nutcases yell about?"

"Yeah, only with powers." Marie scrolled through the company's digital folders, "He said there was a project that started in World War II, looking to make super soldiers."

Charlotte rubbed her face and around her neck. "Girl, something like that _if_ it's true is probably buried so hard googling it is gonna get the CIA at your door."

"Maybe on the government end, yeah. But what about private businesses?"

"Yeah, you keep shining, crazy diamond. Me, I'm officially scraping the barrel and looking through the C's in case we're not hearing the name right."

But searching the staff directories into the night produced no true productive leads, just a few names that _might_ be Griegry or Gris-Gris if the name was typed on a broken keyboard at midnight during a blackout. Marie's back popped as she finally stood up and out of her desk. Her eyelids gritted against her eyes every time she blinked sleep away.

"I quit," Marie said, extending her arms far over her head to stretch out more kinks, only to collapse back into her chair.

"Promises, promises," said Charlotte. "I can't believe we're doing this again tomorrow."

Megs more data spread over several external drives threatened Marie's sanity; she clicked lackadaisically at the next one on the list. Another file lower down on the browser, titled "board of directors," caught her eye. She clicked that one open.

"Face it, it's looking like one of those cases we're gonna shelf for a week or five until something else pops up," Charlotte continued.

Nothing of worth there but Marie's gut told her to keep going. She followed the link to the previous year's board. And the year before. And the year before that all the way to six years ago. "Jackpot."

Charlotte leaned over Marie's shoulder. "Dr. Simon Trask, member of the board, former regional head of R&D in New Jersey. This is supposed to be significant."

"Trask is the guy--" Marie stopped. If she told Charlotte about Gambit's previous visits and what he wanted her to do, she'd hit the roof. Not only because of the meetings' highly illegal nature but also because Charlotte was Charlotte. She was Marie's mentor the same as Logan. She'd react to this secret probably in the same way but with a louder, more extensive vocabulary. "When I called all you guys out on the street to help arrest Gambit, it wasn't the first time I met him."

Charlotte raised both her brows then leaned back, arms crossed.

"He's broken in my place twice. He wanted me to... He has this crazy idea that I'd be willing to kill Simon Trask for the right price. So he broke in to try to hire me to assassinate him. When that didn't work, he tried to blackmail me, too."

"And you didn't call it in?"

"That's why they call it blackmail!" Marie snapped. Calmer, she added, "I was going to. I had him voice recorded and everything for evidence. But we got busy. And he didn't show up for a few days. I figured I had time or he'd lost interest."

"Blackmailers don't work that way."

"I know. I just... it's different when it's you. Anyway, what're the chances that the guy some super-gang wants me to assassinate is also connected to our ziff drug ring?"

"We need dirt on the good Senator," said Charlotte. "Interesting as this is though, we're both going home and getting some rest."

"But--"

"I admire your dedication, young padawan, but we aren't getting paid and we've already lost half our minds. Go home, get some sleep, and I expect you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning."

"I'm not sure what a padawan is but it doesn't sound good," Marie muttered. "And besides, aren't I in charge of the case. I don't have to sleep if I don't want to even if I could. Did that make sense?"

"Not even remotely." She paused. "Is it your mutation? The voices and all that?"

"I'm good. I got it fixed. Not my actual mutation--" she explained, seeing Charlotte's gaze dart to her gloved hands-- "but the psyches are under control."

"That guy was blackmailing you about your powers, wasn't he? Don't look so surprised; I _have_ been at this longer than you. You're a pretty open person but you don't talk about your mutation unless someone pushes you like Everett in his idiot mode. If you had a deep dark secret, that would be it."

Marie made a noncommittal noise.

"Are your powers back for good?"

"I don't know."

Charlotte studied her the same way she did suspects. "Even if it is, you wouldn't let it affect the job. You're a lifer, like me. You like the stress too much."

Marie laughed. "This is painfully true. But like you said, it's late and we gotta be here for more sexy police work in the morning like data entry and number crunching."

"That was an awful way to change the subject."

"I know. I'm tired is all. I'll do better next time."

"You better. I'm freakin' embarrassed for you, rookie."

They left the office arm-in-arm. Charlotte, Marie noted with relief, didn't hesitate this time.

* * *

She called Boston as soon as she got home. Warren answered with a distracted, "Worthington."

"It's Detective D'Ancanto. From Mutant Crimes in New York."

"Yeah? Oh, yes! Marie, hi." Muffled noises suggested he had company.

"Is this a bad time?" Marie asked.

"No, I can talk. Let me just go into my office." More shuffling and the sound of a tumblers clicking shut. The outside noises ceased. "I had a few colleagues over for dinner but they're all out the door now. How can I help you, Detective?"

"I have a few questions regarding Worthington Avent-Smythe's board of directors."

"Am I on the record?"

"Yes. It has something to do with my main case." To encourage his cooperation, she added, "I have more information on the Guild as well."

"Fire away then."

"Is it true Simon Trask was a member of the company six years ago?"

"Yes," replied Warren. "He was the director of R&D for a long time. I remember him even from when I was a kid; I stayed at the office a lot."

_As a guinea pig,_ Marie guessed. "Did he leave on good terms?"

"I believe so. I haven't heard otherwise anyway and my dad's usually pretty good at complaining. I kind of got the idea of running for mayor from him. If he could do it, I had a chance."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing too ominous," Warren said, chuckling lightly. "Just the fact that he didn't have a political background. He got involved in more civic organizations later in his career to ease his way into politics. If I recall correctly, he left the company because he'd been hired as a councilman in New Jersey. One of his steps. Simon always had steps."

"You sound like you know him well."

"My dad likes to entertain his people. Managers and directors were like family, especially fellow scientists. They always--" Abruptly, he said, "Look, maybe we should continue this at MacTac headquarters tomorrow with my lawyer present."

"You're not a suspect, Warren."

"I know but I can't risk anything I say or do being turned against me," he said lightly. "Not as the Good Little Mutant Posterboy. No offence meant, Detective."

"None taken, Mr. Mayor. I can reserve a conference room for the end of this week or early next week."

"I'll get my assistant to confirm the time. We can grab a bite to eat afterwards in a less professional setting."

Marie swallowed a cough. "Well. Um, thanks."

"I hope I wasn't... I mean, I do think you're quite..." He chuckled softly. "I think you're damn impressive. And beautiful. So, yes, Marie, I'm asking you out to dinner."

She had to cough again. "That's really nice of you, Warren--"

"Oh, man, not 'nice.' Anything but that word."

"But you're a possible witness in an open case. I can't have anything but a professional relationship with you, especially if you're that concerned about your posterboy status."

With a final, nervous chuckle, he said, "You really are something. Brilliant, beautiful and ethical to a fault."

Guilt burned in Marie's stomach. "If I was as ethical as that, I wouldn't be offering you more information on the Guild."

"I'm not without my own charms, Detective."

"We have a few people we can question about the Guild. From what we've gathered--" or rather, what she had gleaned from Gambit's psyche-- "they aren't as large as rumours indicate. We're pretty sure their territory only runs on the east and south-east right now. Where did you hear about them again?" she asked.

"Here and there. Urban legends around the office. Funny how fifty years ago, mutants were an urban legend, right?"

"True."

"Well, if we can't have dinner, let me at least offer a cup of coffee when I come over," Warren said. "I hope what I know helps."

"I hope your lawyer lets you help," said Marie. She hung up, a niggle in the back of her mind keeping her restless. Linking the phone to her laptop, she uploaded the conversation into the case files and put it on repeat.

* * *

With Warren confirmed for questioning on Monday, Marie technically had a little more breathing room in her caseload which made the weekend a good time to follow-up at the Institute. MacTaggert had called wanting to update her on her blood work. This time, when she passed by the security guard at the reception area, he just waved her through.

Marie took her time strolling down the hall to the clinic. Picture frames hung on every spare space on the walls, former patients, former students, professional portraits and small candids tucked neatly behind ivory matting. She turned to look behind her. Part of the grand staircase was still visible. Phantoms of her year here stampeded down the staircase and down the hallway to the former school rooms which she could see through the banisters if she craned her neck far enough. She traced the hardwood panelling, searching for the seam of a hidden passage way where they escaped Stryker's soldiers.

A sudden brisk wind whipped her hair around her neck. She took off a glove to feel for the goosebumps on her nape. Her neighbour with the labradoodle still went up in goosebumps at the drop of a hat for all that he was New York born and raised. Shoving the glove back on, Marie entered the clinic.

MacTaggert was in her office; her coughs announced her presence. Marie entered to see the doctor bent over her with the violence of her coughing.

"Are you all right?" Marie asked.

MacTaggert shook her hand. "I'm fine," she said, finally catching her breath. "Just a wee cold I've had on-and-off since winter. Job hazard. I glad you came so promptly."

"When your doctor says something's real important, you high-tail it."

"A lot of my patients think otherwise."

"A lot of your patients are unofficial pararescuers who like to dress in bondage gear."

MacTaggert laughed. "Actually, that's not true. I spend more time in the lab these days rather than the clinic. Poor Annie inherited the headache of taking care of _them_. I really should get around to grandfathering her practioner status, what with all the responsibilities she's taken over. But enough of that for now; here, step into my office."

Marie chose the plushest seat. Comfort helped cushion bad news.

"I've been studying your blood-work to try and understand the unique properties I found on your prior admission. If you recall, we found some markers that resemble ALD in the previous test. There's a new development in our research and I'd like to take more samples from you."

"I'm used to needles," said Marie, starting to roll up her sleeves.

"Actually, I'd like to take cheek swabs, hair samples and if you're amenable to borrowing some of Logan's healing, a bit of bone marrow."

Marie gaped.

"We wanted to track any changes in your system that might tell us if your body creates those ALD-like markers naturally or if it's a reaction to exposure to the virus," MacTaggert quickly explained. "We've exposed some of the present blood samples to various infective organisms such as ALD. We've washed some with differing concentrations of Novomane. We've also set up several controls where we did nothing at all. While these findings are in no way definitive, I thought you'd appreciate the update especially since we were interrupted earlier."

"Right. We were on blue squiggles and green spots."

"Correct. We've run more comparative analyses on your immune system's reaction to both ALD and Novomane, this time with a shape-shifter as a comparison in addition to a baseline. As I mentioned before, I believe you have shape-shifting components to your mutation working in conjunction with what Emma tells me is a low-level telepathic or empathic ability. Your gift is quite complex."

"Joy."

The doctor's tight smile mirrored Marie's. "Remember how your samples had blue squiggles? Those were our unknown. I'd've dismissed them as vesicles with junk material if it wasn't for the uniformity and high concentration in your system. We've also extracted DNA material from the vesicles and are decoding it right now. They're too small to be bacteria but too large to be viruses. The ALD-like markers we see in your blood seems to be a result of your immune system reacting to these unknowns. It may mean nothing; mutants don't always react to infective micro-organisms in a predictable manner."

Marie tried to translate and digest the information. "So, I have stuff in me that isn't ALD but my body's making stuff that it would make if I did have ALD. And taking Novomane may or may not be involved in this not-ALD stuff."

"More or less. Maybe."

"Am I contagious?"

"At the moment, it seems to be blood-borne only."

"Good thing my mutation requires gloves."

"I do want you to take precautions," MacTaggert said. "Until we know what it is you have, make sure anything with your blood is disposed of in a biohazard waste bin; I'll lend one to you. If you aren't close by one, just put it in a plastic bag and throw it away when you get home. Use condoms during sex and don't share hygienic material such as toothbrushes--"

"I know the rules, Doctor. I've had to give it to the girls and boys working the streets."

Moira cupped her hands. "I know this must be difficult for you. It's only temporary until we solve this puzzle."

"That's what they said about my powers."

"Drugging yourself half to heaven helped, now didn't it?"

Marie narrowed her eyes at the doctor. "You skipped the class on bed-side manner."

"Actually, I excelled in it. That's how I know the usual platitudes won't work on you." Moira looked as if she wanted to say more but an aide slammed open the door, panting as though he'd been running.

"Excuse me, Doctor, but you told me to tell you when Gambit was awake."

* * *

Manners stayed Marie for all of five minutes before she followed MacTaggert into the patient rooms at a speed. Logan and Storm reached Gambit's room at the same time. Gambit struggled to stand up out of bed despite Annie's protestations about week-long comas and syncope.

"I don't think a fall would damage his head much," said Marie.

Gambit looked up. He grinned and opened his mouth undoubtedly to snap off another smart-alecky flirtation then his gaze passed over her right shoulder to Logan. "That you, Logan? What the shit is going on, hommes?"

"I echo the sentiment if not the precise wording," said Storm. "You have been enjoying the hospitality of the Xavier Institute for the past four days, Mr. Lebeau. I hope you won't mind paying us back in kind."

"Do you accept American Express?"

"Been a while, Cajun," said Logan. "Put on some pants. I don't need to see any more of your tattooed ass. We need to talk. Doc, is he cleared to take a walk?"

"Take a wheelchair. If he becomes concussed, it'll ruin all my good work," MacTaggert said.

They unearthed a wheelchair and a pair of pyjama bottoms. Gambit didn't protest, apparently enjoying the role of invalid as Storm took it upon herself to steer the chair. They exited through the clinic's main doors, out into the smoother garden paths. To onlookers, they were just Institute staff visiting a clinic patient; Storm probably did it all the time. Her small talk certainly covered all possible bland topics-- weather, sports teams, stock markets.

Marie slowed her pace and tapped Logan's sleeve so he would do the same. When Storm and Gambit were several feet away, she asked, "Will he talk?"

Logan shook his head. "He doesn't think of the Guild like a religion like some of the people in the lower rungs. But he's loyal. I've seen him take a bullet for a fellow Thief without a second thought."

"I'm sure the money helps."

"Sure he likes the money but there's something more. He's kind of like Cyclops except without a stick up his ass."

Marie snorted. She couldn't imagine anyone more unlike Scott Summers. "All criminals rat out eventually. That whole Godfather, honour amongst thieves thing is bullshit."

"Not to Gambit. Not if he's made it as far up the Guild as you told me."

"You're the one who first taught me that everyone has weak spots."

Logan stifled his grin into a scowl. "I also said those weak spots were my claws in their gut."

"Details."

Storm turned around just then and gestured to Logan. He was at her side in five quick strides. Marie watched them communicate, more with their bodies than words. They functioned together, like her and Charlotte or Scott Summers and Dr. Grey. She never would have guessed Storm could open up enough to do that. When Scott Summers was alive, she'd been the hierarchy-type, a place for everyone and everyone in their place.

A pair of middle-schoolers ran through the garden and wrapped themselves in Storm's skirts. She laughed, kneeling to embrace them, ignoring the dirt on her hem. Logan stayed between the kids and Gambit, obviously not trusting him with their safety which was smart. If Gambit snatched one of those kids as a hostage, he was good enough to get past the gates. Marie half-jogged closer to act as back-up but half-way there, she realised she didn't have anything to worry about. Gambit's psyche threw up a memory of changing diapers and playing hide-and-seek in a grand old mansion even as she saw him grinning at the kids, his smirk softened into a genuine smile.

Warren's donation to Massachusetts Academy. The girls playing double-dutch outside the MacTac building. The kids whispering candy-sticky secrets in Storm's ear before running back to their parents. When they disappeared, hardness bracketed Gambit's mouth once again.

By the time Marie caught up, Storm was in the middle of her Institute spiel. "... worked so hard. All we have risked is for this; for the simple pleasure of running through the streets with the carelessness of a child."

"And I do appreciate it, ma'am, especially now that I'm a fellow invalid seeking help from the finest mutant-centred health-care centre," said Gambit with obvious sarcasm.

Storm threw her hands up. "You may think Trask's life is worth very little but I can guarantee the opposite as soon as your people kill him. His message will very quickly move from fringe to forefront and those who weren't his followers will just as quickly turn him into a saint. You spent time as a mere thing for being a mutant; would risk that for the rest of the nation?"

Gambit appeared to contemplate her words, his brows furrowed. Then he grinned. "You're cute when you're sanctimonious, cherie."

Storm's eyes clouded over. Logan quickly inserted himself between her and their primary witness. "Let me talk to him," he said.

"No, I'll do it," said Marie. "Whatever he tells you has a price. You can't get Xavier's wrapped up in that."

Logan eyed her expression. "Your price tag ain't lower."

"I disagree." She took up the handles on the wheelchair. "Go on back to the mansion. Mr. Lebeau and I are going to have a talk by the lake for about an hour."

"Promises, promises," Gambit drawled.

Marie didn't reply to the jibe. Considering her half-formed plan, she needed to gather her courage. No, courage wasn't quite the right word for it; more like she had to shed her personality and tamp down the fear that she couldn't take this back.

The boathouse stood at the end of a well-maintained flagstone path, a ten-minute walk from the mansion through the Italian Renaissance garden and a thinned section of forest. The last time she was here, she'd been helping Scott Summers clear the main floor out. He and Dr. Grey were going to convert it into their own house so they could have a short commute to work without sacrificing their privacy. Marie pushed Gambit's wheelchair to the front door.

"Come on upstairs," she said and turned her back to him to enter the building.

To her amazement and relief, he obeyed.

Kayaks, oars and life vests hung in ordered columns in a semi-covered area that was once a large porch. What should have been the kitchen-dining-living room now stored bicycles and camping equipment. Further down the hallway, the laundry room and second bathroom were now men's and women's showers and toilets. The staircase bisected them; Marie led the way to the second floor. According to the Institute maps, the rooms up here were still bedrooms. She opened the door to what would have been the Grey-Summers study. A twin bed took up most of the far wall near the window. A Shaker wardrobe stood at the opposite wall. A carved night-stand, a telephone, a ceiling light and a shelf of old paperbacks finished off the décor.

She gestured to the bed. "Have a seat."

"I feel like I should have some synthesizers going," said Gambit. But he sat, that salacious smile having never left his face since the mansion. "You gonna fuck information out of me, Detective? I knew MacTac made adjustments to the standard NYPd protocol but I didn't know that was part of it. Might have to rethink my position on the boys and girls in blue."

"I don't know how much you've overheard about my powers. I have a piece of you in my head now, a piece from deep down inside that can't lie. I know how you cried for your daddy after the days in the lab started blending together and you truly thought you'd never get out. I know what you stole back from the Guggenheim for Sheik Al-Aziz. I know the designs you stole for a certain company in Cupertino two years ago. Guild structure's a little more hazy but I'm sure I can piece it together from everything else floating around in my head. I got a lot of things."

"You'd have a heck of a time proving your little fairy tale, sha."

"Maybe. But maybe I don't have to prove anything." Marie pushed off the wall, shedding her sweater. "Maybe all I gotta do is knock you out again, book you for a night's stay at MacTac. The legendary Gambit, who's like this--" she crossed her index and middle finger--" with the Queen of the Guild. You get the red carpet wherever you go based on reputation alone. What do you think'll happen to that reputation once you have a record? They're going to say you're old, Gambit. Old and losing your touch. I'm sure there's at least one sweet young thing nipping at your heels, wanting to knock you off the throne. And until now, you came out on top, a combination of skills, chutzpah and sheer dumb luck. When they hear you been caught--"

She let the thought dangle, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"You're playing a game I perfected when you was in pigtails," said Gambit.

"Don't make it any less true. I've got my phone right here; I could take your picture and some prints and send them off to MacTac. Give me five seconds of skin-to-skin contact and I could knock you silly enough to slow you down."

"You hate your powers."

"But I can't deny they're useful. They're also much easier on all parties if the person I'm absorbing is willing."

"You wanna touch me, honeylamb?" He shifted back so that his back rested on the wall, spread his legs to straddle the bed so his hips angled up, and crossed his arms behind his head. "Rock and roll."

Marie pulled off her gloves. "The Remy Lebeau floating around my brain also says you can function outside the criminal barter system. You can't be guilted into the usual moral debates or threatened with violence but you have your own stances. You respect money and favours but not to the point where they become your whole world. I'm willing to bet you've never raped anyone or made any contracts that required selling people." A memory flitted to the surface. "You beat a man to death, you half dead yourself, to save two kids from an assassination. One that you put together."

The muscles at his temples tightened. His nostrils flared a smidge. The nonchalant bonelessness evaporated from his posture for half a second, just long enough for Rogue to catch him about to lie.

"You got some good in you, Remy Lebeau. A tiny, bitty droplet of good."

"And you're using it up with all your talk."

"Fine then, here's the deal. You willingly let me absorb the information you can't talk about out loud and I don't officially arrest you. We get the information we need, I don't get the headache of absorbing someone unwilling, and you don't lose your reputation."

"Seems like an uneven trade," said Gambit. "You ain't such a big prize that I'd be willing to give that kind of information up."

"But I am. 'Cause I'm going to owe you." Marie dropped the other glove. "I, Marie D'Ancanto, of the Mutant Crimes Task Force and close associate of Xavier's Institute, the single most influential mutant community representative in the whole world, is going to owe Gambit a favour. How's that sound?"

He licked his lips. "Carte blanche?"

"Please, do I look that stupid? For carte blanche, I better get gold-star membership into the Guild and access to the heated pool. I don't kill and I don't do things that would lead to people getting dead."

"Fair enough. And all you want is the stuff of Simon Trask."

"That's it. I couldn't care less about the rest of your sordid past. This time."

Gambit shrugged. "I guess we got us a deal." He held his hand out but Marie shook her head.

"I gotta make sure you really are willing. Close the book, sugar, you're gonna get flies in there." She tapped one of his knees.

Bemused, Gambit pulled his legs up on the bed. "I am beginning to love this deal."

"Yeah? Wait until it hits you." She straddled the bed as well and placed his hands on her waist. A muscle on his right temple tensed at the proximity. He curled his fingers around her waist, hefting the softness of her hips, then ran his hands up over her shirt until his thumbs rested on the underside of her breasts. A test. She leaned forward until her forearms rested on his shoulders. "You ready?"

"Since the moment I started casing you."

"That is... really damn creepy."

He laughed. "Just get it over with and kiss me, Detective. You got the whole mutant population to save."

"Kiss you?" Marie made a face. "You're already copping a feel. Don't be greedy." She cupped his face with both hands.

_Simon Trask stared out from his photograph past Remy's left shoulder, as though he felt the camera's eye watching. He flipped through the files: a resume, company newsletters, email print-outs, newspaper articles. He opened another file, this one embossed with the CPP logo. Inside, a welcome letter from Trask with the organization's manifesto, another newsletter featuring happy upper-middle class professionals and salt-of-the-earth blue-collar families, a donation slip, a business card, all boastingly printed on 100% acid-free, recycled paper using natural inks and--_

_\-- was the last of four possible agents. Remy dipped another watermelon square in salt as he continued his stakeout. This one obeyed his parole officer, reigning his-- clones? duplicates?-- to do the same. Aside from the high profile case, he was the best option, followed closely by the detective up in NYC. On the other hand, with this one's involvement in the Alcatraz Riots, chances were high the courts wouldn't delve too deeply in the case to look for an "urban legend" gang. All that remained was to see him in action with--_

_\-- creepy in its glossiness. Place had what Tante Mattie called bad juju. The enforced hominess of braided rugs, over-stuffed couches, even goddamned gingham curtains. Made his spine crawl. Remy made his way to the back offices where Trask's desk begged for his attention. So much possible leverage, so little--_

_\-- scorch of nails up Remy's back as he licked the sweat beading off her belly while his other lover pressed his thumbs into several exquisite points on his back--_

_\-- taking you so long?" Belle demanded. "I coulda had my people there and done a week ago."_

_"You're the one who wanted an outside agent. They don't tend to lick ass at the snap of your fingers like the rest of the Guild."_

_"At the tune of what we're paying, they better come up picking shit out between their teeth."_

_"Nice. Always so elegant, you."_

_"Like you said, cher mari, we ain't trading in the stock exchange. We got this far 'cause we get things done. You used to get things done."_

_"I still do."_

_"Not from my end."_

_"You don't worry your little silicone head about my end. The job'll get done and it'll get done right."_

_"It better. Or the young'uns'll start smelling blood in the water, if you know what I mean."_

_"Yeah, yeah, I watched that movie, too. I got the agent all fixed up for the fall. She's--"_

Marie pressed her fingers around Gambit's grimace. "Give me something to work with, dammit."

He grabbed her hands, palms grinding against her knuckles. Together they pressed harder.

_\-- the little ones ran about, laughing like kids should. He tried to think about the upgrades he could make to his place, to several of his places, and maybe that Takashi Murakami he'd had his eye on for a while. But, damn, these people worked helped street kids. Shit, shit, shi--_

_\-- pretty near singed his eyebrows! Remy backed away from the bulging window. Half a second before it shattered, he somersaulted to the other side of the room, using his trenchcoat to cover his face. The inferno whirlwinded past his building, making its way to Chelsea. This was not worth the goddamn paycheque. He packed up the essentials and left. Agent or no agent, he wasn't about to get his damn ass crispified just to see how good that woman was with her weapon. Except she did get the shot, right in front of--_

_\--"tired of cleaning up after your goddamn mess, Belle. You funded this... this..."_

_"That's rich coming from you. You're happy enough making seven figures each time you drop by some gangbanger hovel to say 'boo.' At least I'm honest. At least I know what I am and what I want."_

_"This ain't right. We do a lot of wrong but this is just plain... We're talking nuclear fallout across the world with the Guild smack in the middle of it all."_

_Belle narrowed her eyes. "We all ready on ground fucking zero, Remy. I'm sending out kids who ain't even had a sideways thought about jerking off and burying them soon as they figure out the mechanics."_

_"Yeah, well, that's what you get when you put profit in front of family."_

_"When you look like that I almost think you give a good God damn about our family."_

_He shoved the folders out of sight. "Fine, throw your damn soul away. Just tell me specs so I can get the hell out and keep my share of the bank."_

_She might have laughed. "Always a pleasure working with--_

_\--Christ, oh, Christ, his blood had turned to ice, ripping through his veins and up his body to his face where her hand made contact with his skin and it was like dying in slow motion while his wails filled his brain pan and dripped out his ears--_

Gasping, Marie released, throwing herself away. Gambit slithered off the bed, pale, his breathing shallow. She caught him just before his head cracked on the table. The movement roused him and he scrabbled at her shoulders, too weak to really grab hold. She pushed him back on the bed.

"You okay?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Good." Marie exhaled. Grabbing the nearest chair, she flopped down on it, resting her head back against the wall. She had to stay conscious. She couldn't let this absorption take over. The white boxes in her mind rose around Gambit's memories, trapping them until she could sort it out later. Much later. After a nice bath and a beer.

"Sha?"

"Hmm?"

"Was that as good for you as it was for me?"

Marie chuckled. Then she kicked him in the nuts.


	7. Chapter 7

Marie was on the phone with Captain Harper when Logan, Storm and Jubilee entered MacTaggert's office.

"That's everything I have, sir. The cavalry's here, though, so I'm gonna update you as soon as I finish with them. Hell, yeah, there's a need. Remember how they didn't let Manhattan burn to the ground? Talk to you later, Captain." She hung up and stood, waving the X-Men over. "Here's what we should do--"

"Wolverine will spearhead this mission," said Storm. "He's the most experienced."

"Wolverine doesn't know MacTac."

"I'm sure he can cope." She turned away from Marie to speak with Logan. "I'd feel better if the X-Men were embedded with the police force during the operation."

Marie smacked her hands on the desk. "Excuse me but you don't even have my information yet. It's a little early to start going over my head even for you."

"Then give us the information."

"Getting into a Guild member's head isn't something I can teach. I have to let Gambit take over my eyes and my brain; that alone makes me de facto leader. Furthermore," she slashed at the air to cut Storm's burgeoning protest off, "I have the most experience with how both teams work and if Wolverine's okay with it, I can do some tactile updating. Cops are as tight as X-Men; they'll work for someone else but it won't be as smooth. You're going to need smooth for this mission. That's also why your idea of embedding the X-Men with cops is going to fail and why I'm in a better position to lead."

"I hardly think this is the time for an argument on jurisdiction."

"What about an argument about what a royal bitch you've been to me for the past ten years?"

Jubilee gasped and Logan snapped out of his shock. "Marie, I think--"

"No, Logan, this confrontation is a long time coming," said Storm. "Perhaps if Rogue vents her frustrations, she can finally overcome this childish grudge."

"Okay, first, Rogue is one of _my_ names. I chose it; I choose who calls me by it. Right now, it's for Logan all the time and the operatives on _my_ team when I lead _my_ investigation. You lost that privilege when you, as an adult and my legal guardian, drove me out of the school just because I exercised my goddamn right to choose the Novomane treatment."

"Your memory is faulty. I didn't drive you out."

"Maybe not actively but you did nothing to stop the other students from bullying me. You didn't even pretend to care when I left."

"You left less than four months after Charles, Scott and Jean died!" Storm bit out. "In the span of forty-eight hours, I went from employee to headmaster without anyone to guide me. I'm sorry you felt bullied but I also had to take care of fifty-seven other students, orient sixty-one unexpected enrolments, train an entirely new staff and physically rebuild parts of the school while somehow using funds I had no idea existed and therefore had absolutely no idea how to access."

"But somehow, you had the time to help Pete with his scholarship and Kitty deal with her parents and train Bobby and Jubilee to oversee X-Men training and put together a press-package for Xavier's that basically jump started this place from school to mutant nirvana but you couldn't spare five goddamn minutes--"

"Those students sought my help!"

"I was a kid! I shouldn't have had to beg for help!"

"Then you shouldn't have--" She stopped.

"What?"" Marie stepped out from behind the desk. "Say it."

Logan tried to interfere again but he couldn't get between them.

"Say it, Storm. I shouldn't have gotten the Cure? You don't even like hearing the name; I can read it in your eyes."

"I disagree with your decision," said Storm. "But I highly resent your accusation that I'm prejudiced against those who take Novomane. Xavier's is about acceptance."

"What about you? Does Ororo Munroe believe in equality or superiority?"

Electricity sparked out from Storm's eyes. "Ororo Munroe grew up clawing for life in a village that makes District X look like Martha's Vineyards. She was a mutant and, therefore, ranked under 'garbage' in a world order dictated by a government who used AK-47s in place of approval ratings. I had to be taught that I was human, that I should have self-respect despite my mutation and, by God, I will not let anyone-- _no-one_ \-- take that self-respect away from anyone else! Especially not for a reason as flimsy as sex."

"Fuck. You!" Marie jabbed Storm with two fingers.

"Remove your hand."

"Fuck you and your hypocritical pedestal, Ororo Fucking Munroe. I got the cure for me. _Me!_ Because--

"You stand in that uniform without your mutation and still call yourself one of us. And you call _me_ the hypocrite?"

"-- _I_ wanted to and it's _my_ fucking body--"

"Your body, your skin, your powers are a gift, Marie! It was a gift and you rejected it. You still do. If you're looking for approval for your decision--"

"No, Storm, _your_ powers are a gift. Mine is a disorder and fuck you very much for resenting my attempts at controlling it."

"You barely even tried to control--"

"How do you know what I did--"

This time, Logan pushed his way between them. "Okay, guys, take it easy. 'Ro, we're going back topside. Jubilee, take Marie--"

"We don't have time for this. This mission needs to be arranged ASAP," said Storm.

"Fine. Then as field leader, I make the call on who spearheads for the X-Men and I choose Marie."

"I don't need you to patronize me!" Marie snarled at the same time that Storm exclaimed, "Logan! Why on earth--"

"I'm not patronizing you," Logan told Marie. "You're right. What you said before with knowing both X-Men and MacTac."

"Thank you."

"But you also fucked up just now. She has a point and you have a point but-- I can't believe I'm actually saying this-- the shoving and the shit-talking was wrong. At least Storm attempts civility; you get your hackles up. You want to be a leader like her, not one like me."

Marie leaned back, her arms crossed. Storm's eyes were blue again, the air in the room no longer crackling with electricity. Her gaze flickered between eye-contact and the floor. Almost regretful. Or, maybe even a little ashamed.

Almost as ashamed as Marie felt for reverting into a whiny teenage bitch at the slightest perceived provocation from her. If daily abuse from crooks couldn't get a rise out of her in her good cop routine, why did she loose her temper with Storm?

Marie stuck her hand out. "I was offside. Sorry."

Storm accepted. "I was as well. I... also apologize that you were bullied badly enough to leave. You slipped between the cracks. It should not have happened."

"In that case, I'm sorry I blamed you for everything that went wrong after I took Novomane."

"And I'm sorry for the remark about using Novomane for sex."

"Wow, are you guys going to fight about who can apologize better now?" Jubilee interrupted. The tension broke, drawing small smiles all around. "Awesome! Let's ride the weird that is Wolverine being the peacemaker and save the world! Again!"

As they seated themselves for the briefing, Storm asked, "Do you truly believe you can be a good leader in this mission?"

Marie straightened her shoulders and imbued her voice with all the confidence she had. "I do."

Storm's smile curled up a little more. "Very well."

* * *

Jubilee led her into the sub-basement changing room and opened a narrow closet door. "If none of the girls' uniforms fit you, the boys' closet is right here." She pointed to a similar door across the bench. "You're packing a lot of badonk-a-donk there, Detective."

"Thanks, Jubes," Marie said, rolling her eyes in amusement.

"I'm just saying! When I do military presses, my boobs turn into pecs; you work out and you turn into a Playboy bunny. I bet you can bootyshake with the best of them. Body armour's in this locker; we don't really use it that often so you can just pick whichever and clean it up afterward. We don't have standard boots but I'm a big fan of anything steel-toed and chunky-soled. Anything else?"

"What do you have along the lines of gloves?"

"Just standard heavy-duty neoprene and kevlar. Military surplus stuff. Nothing that won't be a bitch to take on and off."

"I'll deal," said Marie.

Jubilee jabbered away as they changed, unaffected by Marie's curt replies. Marie opted for a small men's costume after trying a couple of the women's suits. Still, she had to leave the top partially unfastened. Her police ballistics vest over it would have to do the cover-up job. The boots strapped higher than police issue and had more give. Feeling naked without weapons, she pulled the holstered batons off her police belt and strapped them on the X-Men uniform. This left her with gloves to worry about.

"I'll meet you at the Council Room," she told Jubilee.

A small, traditional gym stood just beside the Danger Room for warm-up and cool-down exercises. Marie took a pair of faded green weight-lifting gloves out of the equipment locker and tried them. They left her fingers bare but covered the larger parts of her hand, minimizing accidental damage to civilians or teammates. If need be, Velcro straps at the wrists ripped off easily enough. She caught sight of her reflection in the gym's wall-to-wall mirrors. The uniform shaped her body into hard angles and matte plates. Even her hair angled to a point to her chin. Impulsively, she retied her hair so that her bangs curled over her forehead. She didn't look like herself any more-- not Detective D'Ancanto with her business-casual suits and sneakers nor the long-haired teenager who'd barely started X-Men training. Neither-nor again, as she'd always been.

She headed to the Council Room. All the X-Men had already assembled themselves into two groups. With Logan as field leader, Marie knew the arrangement wouldn't be arbitrary. Centuries of military training drummed strategy into his core until it was as much a part of him as the adamantium. Storm and Logan jawed in the front of the room, occasionally throwing glances over to the group. Marie studied the new X-Men. They weren't as young as she feared; only two seemed to be in high school. Bobby and Jubilee were there, of course. Like Logan, Jubilee's uniform sleeves had the leader's red stripe down the sleeves, a hat-tip to Cyclops.

On the other side of the room, close to the exits, stood a fleet of blues. A third of MacTac's cops were here plus another dozen from other precincts hand-picked by Captain Harper and Emma Frost. Even MacTac, used to dealing with large groups of mutants, maintained an intimidated silence in the presence of the X-Men. None to gently. Marie nudged Everett's knee so that he half-tripped backwards.

He whirled around, forehead furrowed but Marie grinned at him. "They're not here for you."

"I know," said Everett. "But they're so... so..."

"It's just a uniform. Look I have one, too."

He almost asked the question but Jubilee pre-empted him by waving at her. "Dude! Over here! I've missed seeing you in our colours."

Marie flushed then mentally kicked herself for the reaction. "Badonk-a-donk adequately contained?" she asked instead.

"Not in a frillion years. So, what're we calling you these days?"

"Rogue." She curled her fingers into a fist. "I'll always be Rogue."

Her arrival began the meeting. Marie chose a seat near the back where she could see both the X-Men and MacTac. At the head of the room, Logan tapped the build-in table screen to start the visual specs. Behind him, the wall monitors responded as well. "Everyone here's gotta know about tonight's gala for the National Mutant Affairs Summit. They didn't have one in the first Summit so that means there'll a lot of people with a lot of power without flak jackets who can be easily blown to hell."

"You don't think the official security will be enough?" asked Blink.

"They're fine for the big things. We're detailing this guy." The screen threw up an image of Senator Trask. The room went quiet. Someone in the back whispered a curse. "Yeah, we hate him but we can't let anyone blow his brains out either. Rogue." He jerked his chin at her.

Marie stood, clicking the table screen to connect to the wall monitors as she did so. Vids and pictures of Trask popped up on the giant screens behind Logan. "We have two objectives. The first is to prevent the assassination of Senator Trask. We have evidence that Trask has been using organized crime backing in his political campaign. This connection's gone south and now they want to kill him. I know he's a scumbag but make no mistake, if he dies, the anti-mutant crowd's gonna rally behind his cause. We need him alive so the authorities can convict him on our second mission."

She tapped the desk screen again. Pete had sketched her babbling best he could but most of the information was text. Rows of it dominated images of cybernetic limbs and faces. "The Citizen Protect Program is funding something called Operation: Bastion. We don't have a lot of information but what we do have is damn scary. Bastion seems to be trialing cybernetic enhancements on people that'll allow them to scan and track mutants. We don't know what they're using-- bioenergy signatures, psi-tracers, DNA scenting-- but we do know it works."

"Your informant told you that?" asked Emma Frost.

"Yeah."

"And he or she is reliable?"

Marie wiggled her bare fingers. "It's pretty hard to lie to me. With everyone's attention at the Summit, it would be a great time for a team to do some info gathering. NYPD's MacTac is here to provide neutral support so no one can accuse the X-Men of funny business."

"On the basis of Detective D'Ancanto's evidence, the FBI's agreed to issue a warrant for a covert search Citizen Protect's headquarters and Simon Trask's private residence." said Captain Harper. "I told them MacTac's going to do the search but we don't have the manpower to do that, help out at the Summit, and maintain patrol for the night. Worse than that, we don't have the training."

"So, this is how it's going to go," said Logan. "Jubilee, divvy your team up into two groups. One goes to the Citizen Protect HQ and the other to Trask's house. You're looking for documentation of this Operation: Bastion."

"Anything digital," Jubilee translated.

"Focus on that but don't forget to take a look for the hard copies, too. It'd be a sign of the seriousness of the project. My team gets Trask's security detail along with MacTac. Make friends now; I don't want you hurting each other by mistake."

"I'll be over-seeing the entire mission," said Marie. "MacTac's trusting the X-Men not to hand their balls to the Feds and, conversely, the X-Men are trusting MacTac to keep their IDs quiet. We fuck this up, we fuck up mutant-baseline relations just as bad as Trask. That means we do the search properly and we do it clean. They don't know we're in and they sure as hell do _not_ get any injuries or fatalities. I don't care what they call your mama, you leave them alone. Got it?" She waited for the whole room to nod. "Good. Jubilee, you can take your team now."

Jubilee saluted, jumping out of her chair. "We'll be the best damn Wolvie-trained ninjas ever."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

Their departure opened up a few chairs but MacTac remained standing. Sighing, Charlotte shoved Everett into the nearest empty seat before taking her own closest to Marie. Slowly, the rest trailed in, shuffling away from the door.

"So, how're we combining our set-up?" Logan asked Marie.

"X-Men train a lot more like combat pararescue. MacTac's probably going to go with SWAT formation. To keep things simple, we should just stick to what we know. That means MacTac's in charge of perimeter defense and crowd control; they keep shit from happening. X-Men take over if shit actually hits the fan. I'll be stationed the fourteenth floor of this apartment complex kitty-corner to the hotel." A map on the monitor changed according to Marie's narration. "We've been jacking all the video feeds along Trask's route since yesterday evening. There's at least seven points of weakness where their security could fail."

Charlotte raised her hand. "We suggested they alternate their routes throughout the Summit but I don't know if they took our advice."

"As long as we have their daily itinerary, we should be okay."

"I want Nightcrawler in Trask's face in case we need an emergency extraction," said Wolverine.

"He's too visible," said Captain Harper.

"There'll going to be an anti-CPP protest right beside the pro-CPP one; he can hide in plain sight."

"I agree with Wolverine," Marie said. "Nightcrawler, you don't have to be in Trask's detail but stay within visual range at all times. We'll inform all the security."

"What if they protest my presence?" asked Nightcrawler.

"They'll just have to live with it. Can we get Jones on Trask's personal detail to double as Nightcrawler's back-up?"

"Certainly," said Captain Harper.

"Good." Marie looked up. "SWAT's got a light perimeter around the hotel. I want X-Men and MacTac to be aware of that perimeter and position themselves in the weak spots-- here, here, and here. The biggest headache for us isn't going to be the Summit gala, though. The people hired to take Trask out just want him dead. They prefer to be covert so any other time, I wouldn't look for a suicide bombing scenario but because they're desperate, they're unpredictable. They could poison his food, stab him in his sleep, blow up his personal vehicle, fake a heart attack, use blow darts, force a drug overdose-- We just don't know."

"You couldn't get it from your narc?" asked Logan.

"My informant said the original plan was for me to snipe him," Marie said. "That's part of the reason I'll be out of the crowd during the gala surrounded by X-Men and cops. If you all can see me, you know I didn't pull any triggers and they can't pin this on me, the Institute or MacTac. But back to protecting Trask's slimy hide. His people have been notified about the attempt. They'll beef up their security, not that it'll do any good."

"Trask has ex-Special Ops on his security team," said Captain Harper.

"That just means we have our work cut out for us," said Marie. "This is going to be a long op, people. It can end when Trask is out of New York State but we alert each city he travels to and we start the mission up again every time he comes back. Until he's convicted on Operation: Bastion, we have got to be so uptight about this man's security, we shit diamonds every Sunday."

"Can I just say I'm having some serious moral issues about being this man's detail long term," said Pete.

"We all do which is why we have to make him look bad instead of a wingnut Jesus," Logan snapped. "You don't have to date him, for fuck's sake, just don't let him get dead. Now if everyone's done clutching their pearls, half of you take our transport, the other half bunk up with MacTac. Rogue, talk with me a bit."

They waited for the room to clear. "It's too bad your snitch can't weasel more information out of his boss," said Logan.

"We could let him go," Marie said. "Let him gather more intel."

"How'd you know he'd come back?"

She sighed. "I don't. That's the problem. And we _are_ going to let him go. He's seen enough of the Institute to use it against you."

"What, someone wants to shoot this place up? It must be Tuesday."

She shoved him playfully. "There are worse things, y'know. Things you can't cut even with your multiple adamantium penile extensions."

"Hey, who said you could talk to your old man like that?" He pushed her back. "The clinic is Moira's domain. He goes when she says so."

"Five bucks says he'll lift half the narcotics before the end of the week."

"Only half? You're being nice."

* * *

Shit would hit the fan. Rogue's back tingled with it, sweat popping up in beads slicking up her bullet-proof vest even through the sports-shift she wore under it. Her communication officers had set up in three groups-- Juliet-One, the covert team in Trask's New Jersey home; Juliet-Two, at the CPP head quarters; and Whiskey, the largest team manning operations during the gala. Leaning over one of the comm-officers, she pressed a button to open up the mic so she could listen to the conversation with one of the covert teams along with the camera feed. Only rustles and the occasional whispered "clear" came through which meant good things for Jubilee's covert group but the lack of info made Rogue's stomach roil.

She patched into the team on the street. "Whiskey Team, this is Hotel, what's the word on the street?"

"All clear," said Cannonball.

"All clear," Everett agreed from several blocks away.

Seven more "clears" came through the speakers.

"Storm's heading up into the ballroom," said Wolverine.

"That took a while," said Rogue. "Cameras?"

"Hrmph."

"Well, score one for the pretty mutants. Put her and Worthington on a magazine cover and we'll almost be respectable."

"Hotel, this is Thomas, MacTac. We have confirmation of Tango heading east on Fifty-Seventh. Can we get anyone there for confirm visual?"

"On it," said Nightcrawler. His commlinked fuzzed to static for a few seconds then, "I am on Fifty-Seventh now. There is a limousine here heading east, ja?"

"That's the one."

"Then I shall maintain eye contact until first marker. Nightcrawler out."

Nodding, Rogue turned to the final table. She plugged into Jubilee's personal team in the Trask home. The cameras revealed an expertly appointed post-colonial design, well-designed but not ostentatious. The cam's wearer was making their way down a carpeted hall.

"Any trouble, Juliet?"

"Zero," came Jubilee's whisper. "Kids at school, housekeeper's grocery shopping. Entering what I think may be the study."

The cam whipped around inside an open door.

"Or the laundry room."

Rogue had to smile. "Check in on you later, Juliet-One."

"Roger that."

Minute by excruciating minute, the communications room tracked Trask's progress through the team's cams and hacked security feeds. Rogue longed to be at all three places. Traces of Gambit's psyche screamed for first-hand visuals, not the grainy digital images with its limited, uncontrollable points of view. Gambit was the expert; he'd know the look and feel of a Guild hit. Rogue tamped down his voice. Gambit had never worked with her team. Either of them.

"Trask's car has arrived," said Cannonball. "MacTac detail is in position."

Then, surprisingly, Storm's voice intruded on the conversation. "What is the ETA on their arrival?"

"What're you doing on this feed?" Rogue demanded.

"You object to another set of eyes within the gala?" asked Storm. "They will not watch me as closely as uniformed guards. Their ETA, please."

"Five minutes thirty," said Logan. "Detail knows to only allow thirty seconds for the photo-op."

"I am near the southern wall, facing away from the windows," Storm said. "I see two of your MacTac operatives, one at the main entrance, the other near the catering doors."

Rogue pursed her lips. Well, Storm _was_ leader of Xavier's Institute for a reason. "You think he'll stick to the schedule?"

"Oh yeah. He wants to live long enough to make president," said Charlotte.

"God help us. Jones, you're closest. Give me a three-sixty, nice and easy with latitudes."

"Got it, Hotel." Charlotte turned in a circle. The camera at her temple, attached to the earpiece, sent dark images of crowds rimmed by streetlights and camera flashes. The surrounding skyscrapers offered little clarity, only rows of dark or bright rectangles. The others' camera feeds were no better albeit in different angles.

"This is shit," said Rogue. She clenched her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"It's not any easier from down here," said Logan. "But unless the assassin has night vision, he'll have a hard time, too."

"Unless he's not a sniper," said Rogue. "He could be someone in the crowd with a sawed-off shotgun."

"If there's anyone in the crowd with a sawed off shot-gun," said Charlotte, "everyone in the NYPD is fired."

"What if it's someone in the NYPD?" Cannonball asked, quite innocently.

The communications room went silent.

"Christ, that's just what we need," Rogue said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"I know, Cannonball. You just pointed out a weakness in our plan. Fuck. Okay, Wolverine, tighten it up."

Logan grunted. "Consider me in his shorts."

"Thank you for that retching visual, Wolverine. Half of Whiskey, converge on the gala ASAP. We're looking at close-quarters weapons now. The rest of you, keep your eye out for snipers; it could still happen. MacTac, alert the bomb squad to scan through the building. Start from the ballroom and work outward. Advise Trask's detail to keep him clear of all the windows."

"Roger, Hotel."

"I see Senator Trask now," said Storm. "Shall I introduce myself?"

"Negative," Rogue said. "Act totally normal." Turning to the other consoles, she jacked into Juliet-One and Two's commes. "Tell me you have something."

"Not yet," whispered Jubilee.

Whiskey Team's cameras threw up an Escher-esque view of the gala's main ballroom and its surroundings. Rogue scanned them all, her eyes feverishly moving between fourteen screens. Something... something itched the back of her head. Something that was a combination of Gambit, Logan and her own experience as a cop. She chewed on her lower lip, staring, staring, staring. Shadows shifted in the windows of the buildings surrounding the hotel. Thick parades of pedestrians filed down the streets, interrupting the geometrical rush of cars. A drunken pair toppled a group of college students. A businesswoman balanced several bags as she talked on the phone. Three hunched figures traded items near an alley. Limousines and town cars stopped at the end of a blue carpet leading up to the gala steps, depositing coifed couples before a mob of reporters and protesters. So many people. So many chances to take a mark. If Gambit couldn't narrow down to one agent, Belle had a fleet of assassins to--

Rogue slapped down her earpiece. "There's more than one. Someone get me to that-- there's more than one of them!"

One of the communication officers stared up at her. "Ma'am?"

"Send it out to Whiskey Team. The Guild didn't hire just one assassin; they sent a free-for-all. Get Trask the hell out of there, now! And someone get me a squad car!"

At that moment, Cannonball reported, "Possible sniper at the Carrington Apartments. That's, uh, a brick façade a block down. Eighth floor, corner window. Checking it out now, ma'am."

"The bomb squad just reported in a suspicious looking package a block down the same block as the hotel," said a comm-officer as Rogue dove into a squad car and slapped the sirens on.

Logan barked into her ear. "Stay away from here, Rogue."

"No can do, Wolvie," she said. "You guys are spread too thin and you need my eyes to spot the most likely to make the hit. Where's Trask?"

"We're trying to pull him away now. Sonnuvabith reporters smell blood in the air; we're having a helluva time doing this quietly."

"I don't think we should worry about quiet right now."

Everett's voice crackled in. "This is Thomas, Whiskey-MacTac, we have one suspect down. Repeat, one suspect down."

And outside in the crowd, Nightcrawler reported, "The protesters on either side grow restless and some of them are armed. We need that bomb squad van out of view before panic ensues."

"Who fucking parked the van in front of the fucking hotel?" Rogue snarled. "Comm-team patch me to the goddamn CO on that squad!"

Shots cracked.

"Shitfuck!" Rogue gunned the car. The hotel housing the gala eked around the horizon. "Tell me that wasn't in the ballroom."

"Negative! The protesters are rioting!" said Nightcrawler.

"Tango's on his way via an alternate exit," Logan said. "We have a man on his detail down, repeat, man down at the gala."

Rogue screeched the squad car to a stop at the hotel's larger alley. She kicked the door closed and sprinted for the kitchen doors. "Is the suspect detained?"

"You could say that. He's out cold with three of New York's finest pointing guns at his--" Glass shattered in the background.

"Give me your position, Wolverine."

"Busy, Rogue."

She stopped. Held one hand up at the wall. Closed her eyes. Her mental landscape opened up, a translucent floor tiled with memories. A feral growl shook one of the tiles. Rogue opened it up. The psychic trace of Wolverine leapt out of the white boxes, naked, enraged, in pain. His ran for her, claws out for her neck. She opened her arms.

Scents and sounds bombarded her. Rogue shook her head like a dog wringing water from its fur and covered her ears. She lifted her nose up and took a deep sniff, trying to glean Logan's distinctive smell-- cigars, leather, metal. She uncovered her ears. So much information! Too much. She began to close him up again when footfalls around the corner alerted her to another's presence. She pressed herself up against the wall.

As soon as she spotted an arm, Rogue slammed her arm into the other person's neck. He gagged, stumbling backwards. She wrapped his arm up around his back and hooked an ankle around his knee, forcing him to the ground. "Who are you?"

"Waiter--"

She pulled a silenced .22 from his side-holster. "Packing fancy for a waiter."

He scowled at her.

"Fortunately, for you, I don't have time for this." With a practiced twist, she wound plasticuffs around his wrists. "This is Rogue. I have one suspect detained on the main floor outside the kitchen ready for pick-up. How's the ballroom?"

"I believe you have drawn the danger away with Trask," Storm said. "I see nothing out of the ordinary here. Do you need me anywhere else?"

Rogue ran for the stairs. "No, stay put. Take care of everyone there."

"Understood."

Four flights per floor. Rogue cursed the high ceilings. She opened up another box in her mental landscape. The Earth's magnetic fields flowed between her fingers. Wobbling, she floated up to the second floor. The door slammed open with a push of her index finger. Logan pulled up short behind it. Behind him, Trask huffed and puffed, as did his detail.

"They shot at us through the fire-escape," Logan reported. "How many of them are there?"

"As many as it takes," said Rogue. "That's what you get for double-crossing the Guild, Senator. You son of a bitch."

Trask spun around, his jaw tensed for a snarl but he caught himself in time. All obvious signs of his anger melted away. "I have no idea what this is all about, young lady--"

"Detective!"

"--but I'm sure you _must_ be mistaken." He smiled. A pretty, shiny smile for the pretty, shiny viewers at home. "You have my cooperation, of course, until this misunderstanding is cleared."

"Oh, it'll be clear all right. Every single dirty cent going into your hate-crime project."

"Now, now, that's libel."

"Actually, it's slander. If it wasn't true which it is." Rogue stared down one end of the hallway then down the other. "What's our best option?"

Logan pointed up. "Stairwell's enclosed, no windows. Any Assassin would be as trapped as us. Once we get to the roof, firing up on a rifle's trickier than down. Get a chopper to fly us out of here."

"But can the Senator go up fifty flights of stairs?"

"I can damn well try," Trask said.

"Let's do it. Two of you in front, two behind," she told the detail. "I'll take point. Senator, stay glued to the walls."

Logan positioned himself in front of the Senator. "Go!"

Rogue harnessed Magneto's powers again and shot up through the centre of the stairwell. Third floor. Fourth floor. Fifth. Nothing. Tenth, eleventh, twelfth. The men below panted.

"Can you use that to deflect bullets?" Logan asked.

Rogue shook her head. "I don't have enough control. I don't think I'd know how to fix on something as small as bullets. Twentieth floor." She checked in on the rest of the teams. "How're y'all doing?"

"Ballroom is still clear," Storm said.

"We have most of the protestors dispersed," was Nightcrawler's report. "It is difficult to say who has been hired and who came armed for personal reasons."

"No one else with sniper rifles," said Everett. "But the bomb squad hasn't given the place an all clear either. Do we evac?"

"Unless the bombing is a certainly, no," said Storm. "This summit must be seen as a success. Have you got the senator out of the building?"

"We need to get topside," said Logan. "And elevators aren't an option."

"Hurry. The guests are restless."

"The guests are." Rogue rolled her eyes. "Okay, you heard her. We're half-way there. Hotel, get us transport in T-minus ten."

Eleven minutes later, they burst out into the roof. A police chopper whipped grime into Rogue's eyes. She shielded them with one hand. Trask boarded with his detail and strapped in tight. The pilot made a circling movement with his hand. Logan and Rogue stepped back.

A memory flashed in Rogue's mind. The pilot. Salvatorre. "Wait!"

The chopper lifted off. Taking a short running start, she jumped for the landing skids. She managed the hook her arms around them. The blades and engine drowned out Logan's questioning roar. Her lip smacked on the skid. Her legs dangled. The chopper suddenly veered portside, heading low towards one of the hotel's large air vent. Rogue pulled herself up, teeth gritted, but the air vent still caught her ankle. She hoped the click was the vent because that was going to smart later.

The chopper suddenly straightened and God bless chin-ups because they were the only reason she still managed to keep a hold while the damn thing sped through New York City airspace like a suicidal hummingbird. Rogue swung one leg over the landing skid but a sudden dive to starboard threw her upside down. The chopper's underbelly swam. Her stomach felt like she left it back on the hotel roof. She tried to harness any of her absorbed abilities but it was damn near impossible to get to her zen state when she hung off the bottom of an airborne helicopter.

"Goddamn stupid fucking senator fucking better find the goddamn information or I'm fucking shooting him myself goddamn!" Rogue swung herself back upright. Licking her split lip, she released the skid and grabbed onto the rim of the half-open helicopter door. One of the detail guys grasped her wrist. They pulled, her stomach scraped the edge.

"Cover him!" she commanded and headed to the cockpit.

A pistol barrel met her advance. That was okay, 'cause she had one pointed at him too.

"What now will you do?" Salvatorre asked.

"Put your weapon down," said Rogue.

"Or what? You will shoot? I think not."

"I'm not in the fucking mood to be witty, you goddamn sorry ass excuse for a manwhore. Put your weapon down."

"You have no power here."

"Neither do you. What's going to happen after you land? You still have three of us against one of you."

Salvatorre only grinned. He wasn't going to fly this all the way to New Orleans; no, that would lead the chase right to the Guild's front door which was the last thing Belle would want. He'd take them to a Guild-safe zone, probably with a half-dozen men ready to blow the chopper to smithereens. She had to land this thing before they got there. Logan's powers were no good here. Magneto's were too unpredictable with her lack of training and if she let him take over her mind, he'd probably kill Trask himself. Bobby? Freezing the blades would kill everyone. Ditto Pyro. That left--

Rogue pulled Pete's organic steel out of his little white box. Her skin went oddly numb as it transformed. Aghast, Salvatorre pulled the trigger. The bullet ricocheted out the passenger door. She grabbed the weapon out of his hand with one movement and pulled him out of the seat in a second, smooth swivel at the waist. But he was trained assassin; he recovered quickly, grasping another smaller hand gun and a knife.

Rogue took the controls. "You really want to threaten me with those?"

"No," said Salvatorre. And, casually, he shot Trask's security guards.

Rogue slammed the chopper starboard. Salvatorre grabbed the nearest handhold: the passenger seat. His weapon remained trained on Trask. Rogue let the chopper drop. In the back, Trask screamed. Salvatorre chuckled.

"You are worthy of being an assassin."

"Thanks but I have a job." She jerked the chopper portside and, as the motion moved Salvatorre toward her, flung her arm out in a punch. He dodged it easily but at least he took his attention off Trask. Time to get crazy. Rogue pressed down on her comm. "Mayday! I need a mid-air save!" Then she tackled Salvatorre, leaving the pilot seat empty.

Ignoring the freefall, ignoring Trask's screams, Rogue blocked Salvatorre's hits. He was good. He was damn good. There was no way in green hell she'd be able to fight him back if they were on solid ground. Even with Logan and Gambit's memories to draw on, it was all she could do to stop the critical hits. Her arms and legs ached as Pete's powers drained out of her. Blow after blow cracked against her bones. She knew she hit him at least twice but nothing too damaging. At least he wasn't going for Trask.

Her leg suddenly burned-- he'd had a knife. Rogue rammed an elbow into his gut and shoved the blade into a seat. Her brain screamed in the vertigo. She braced herself on the ceiling. Or maybe it was the floor. It was hard to tell now. Salvatorre kicked her jaw. Rogue caught herself against the windshield. Flashes of white fluttered in front of her eyes. Oh hell, no. She was _not_ going to pass out.

Ripping the snaps off her gloves, Rogue lunged for Salvatorre's leg. He kicked down, skinning her chin. She pulled herself higher. The chopper jerked into a faster spin, sending them flush against the ceiling. Trask wailed in the background. Salvatorre still had something in his hand-- where the hell did he tuck all those weapons? Rogue seized the driving shift under her belly, using it for leverage to flip into a full-body slam against Salvatorre. She rammed her arm back; he caught it and twisted. Something popped. She stomped up-- down?-- on something soft and squishy. His glove-covered hand pressed up on her face, suffocating her even more than the free-fall. She grappled for some part of him to hold on to but her right arm wouldn't obey her commands. But if the palm of his hand was on her face and his thumb was on her chin Rogue reached back. Her skin made contact with Salvatorre's bare face.

_\-- in five-point-three seconds. Glock G22, taken apart and reassembled in six-point-two seconds. Smith & Wesson .357, taken apart and reassembled in five-point-seven seconds. Walther P380, taken apart and reassembled in five-point-one seconds. Now to the rifles. M24, taken apart and reassembled in--_

_\-- sweet soft skin, riding him hard, their sweat mingling on the textured tile under their bodies--_

_\-- haul in. He supervised as a small army of lower ranks drove the vehicles off the container. Two others held portable ultrasounds to scan the upholstery. Each car contained enough pure ziff to up the accounts by seven figures. Half of those cut with meth or crack would double the income. With all the gangs relying on the Guild for ziff, he would lead the northern states for Belladonna--_

_"-- won't fail me, will you, my love?"_

_"Never, reine de mon coeur. I am yours, you know that."_

_Belle smiled and caressed his cheek. "You love means a lot to me, Gris-Gris. Together, we will have this country in our--"_

_\-- good for nothing Lebeau! He had far outstayed his welcome in the Guild. If that coward would not do his duty, then he would have to take matters in his own hands yet again._

The memories disconnected abruptly. Rogue's head slammed on metal, her breath frozen by a blow to her midsection. Salvatorre or Gris-Gris or whatever he called himself, flopped bonelessly beside her. She was belly-down on the passenger side window of the chopper and was so damn hot, her clothes must have been on fire but she couldn't put pull the pieces of her brain together to do anything about it. It was all she could do to turn her head and look for Trask. There he was, the son of a bitch, knocked out and held safe by his seatbelt and helmet. Score another for public safety advertisements. Yipee.

The window above her head crumbled and disappeared. Then there were saws and lots of shouting. Shouting in her brain, shouting outside, Rogue couldn't tell and didn't care 'cause it all gave her the mother of all headaches.

_\--bare feet cracked the icy covering on the snowfields, the branches whipping his face open even as his body tried to heal around the steel in his bones--_

_\-- study for this organic chemistry final but Denise had already left five voice messages and if he didn't call back at least she'd--_

_"--ever tried not being a mutant?"_

\--plastic collar held her neck still which was good but she didn't need the shock blanket; she was hot, too hot, she burned, burned, burned, oh god--

_\-- "salad nicoise, two halibut steaks, two mango creams--"_

_\-- Bradley said he'd pick her up at seven and it was eight now and she just knew this would happen--_

_\-- Julien's blood stained his hands right there on the carved steps of the church but he couldn't find it in himself to regret--_

She cringed away from a beam of light directed straight at her eye. "Fuck off."

"She's conscious," said the EMT.

"Rogue." Storm popped up beside her, her white fluttery dress and white fluttery hair disgustingly perfect even after all that fight. "Don't move, child. Your powers have gone wild and you may have a head injury. I am sorry but it was the only way I knew to stop the helicopter--"

_\--didn't want to kill anyone. They just had to be controlled, as a matter of national security. He was a patriot, dammit, and sometimes for the good of the country, you had to get your hands dirty--_

_\-- waterfall of blonde hair falling over her shoulders, their sock-shod feet side by side and their arms around each other, warm--_

_\-- some faint essence of Jean in that monster he held in his arms--_

"Xavier's Medical Centre, Westchester County. Moira MacTaggert and Anna Ghazikhanian will know how to treat--- watch your hand! I want everyone on this Medevac gloved and masked."

_\-- "Mama! Papa! Nie pozostawia ja! Papa!"_

_\-- worth this move. She might be a menial labourer but her children would have American college degrees away from the poverty and corruption of--_

_They had her strapped down and her nose tickled and the lights were hazy, hazy, patchy while smudges of black and white hung on and the chopper fell, fell, fell_

_\-- could only hide with his sister under the bed as the bad men wrecked the whole house--_

_"-- almond latte, light foam. No, venti! That's the medium--"_

"Marie! Marie, it's Moira. Moira MacTaggert. Marie! I want you to open your eyes, Marie, and focus on my pen. Can you see my pen?"

She gasped. There were four pens actually. Fingers spasmed around her own arms, her knees had turned to gelatin, she tried to speak. "Insh-sh-surance is g-g-gonna b-be a b-b-bitch this m-month."

"Deep, steady breaths, Marie."

"Sh-sh-sure. No problem, D-Doc."

Logan yanked her hands away. Her nails raised welts along her biceps. The shudders nearly lifted her off the stretcher. "I gotcha, Stripes. Take it easy."

"T-trying."

"I'm going to give you a sedative, Marie," MacTaggert warned her only half a second before the injection went into her upper thigh. "Give that a few minutes. Take deep, slow breaths. Trick you body into thinking it's okay."

Marie closed her eyes and filled her lungs. By habit, she imagined her neutral space: A willow-filled islet in a calm, turquoise sea. A tire swing so close to the water, her toes tickled the sea anemones. And beyond the sea, endless rows of boxes, barely visible under a great white floor.

"I've got it," she said, opening her eyes. In her mind, was a vast white expanse, dimpled with sunken boxes. A little girl in pigtails skipped across them towards a willow-filled islet where a tire-swing hung just for her. In the distance, the ocean tides crept over the white floor, calm, crystal.


	8. Chapter 8

Marie awoke to Logan chewing on the end of cigar. He glared down at her. "Why is it every time you beat the bad guys, you wind up in the clinic?" 

"It's my process."

"Well, your process stinks." He stalked out, shoulders held stiff. MacTaggert stood behind him, as unimpressed but without the cigar. She flashed a light into Marie's eyeballs again.

"So, Doc, what extra-special snowflake did I become this time?"

MacTaggert's lips thinned. "I'll have to process your blood work to be sure."

"Best guess? And please just let me know; you know I'm not the type to go into hysterics at bad news."

"You'd do yourself a favour if you did," the doctor retorted. "You manifested several powers at once while seemingly absorbing energy by eye-contact not only skin-to-skin. Off the cuff, this type of super-charged mutant ability smacks of--"

"Legacy," Marie said around the burning in her chest.

"Yes. But it can't be because you don't have Legacy. I've run multiple types of tests at least twice and backwards, too, and you don't have the ALD virus. What you do have are those dang antibodies that look like they could attack ALD except when I put them in a Petri dish filled with the stuff, they float around inert. I have no idea what's going on in your body because your body has no idea what's going on after all these years you decided to friggin' bathe in Novomane and then save the world one a twice daily basis! Who the hell do you think you are, the goddamn Wolverine?!"

Marie blinked. "Only sometimes?"

Laughter cracked MacTaggert's frustration. "Lord help me, you'd think I'd be used to you folk driving me half mad with worry. You may not have ALD but you _are_ clinically exhausted. When you can feed yourself without shaking, you can take the IV out. Until then, rest yourself up."

"I've got paperwork to do."

"Your partner's already warned the clinic against letting you near any computers."

Too tired to argue, Marie nodded. She trembled with excess energy. Or maybe plain old fear. "Christ, Storm's gonna love throwing this in my face every time I visit."

"Oh, so you'll visit now?" MacTaggert winked to take the sting from her words.

"I can't complain about the service." Then she remembered. "I need to talk to Logan again for a sec."

"No! No more working, you damn daft twit of a woman!"

"It's about the last mission."

"Oh for--" MacTaggert flipped her phone open and pressed a button. "Logan, you have five minutes to speak with Detective D'Ancanto after which she is banned from all communication devices including cups on a string and her own damn voice."

He stomped in a few minutes later, still smelling of cigars. "What?"

"I have something for you in my uniform," said Marie. "Looks to me like a security fob for wireless encryption access."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Out of Trask's pocket." She winked.

"You picked his pocket?" Logan shook his head. "Tell that Cajun to stop fucking with your head."

"I might keep him around a while. He has a lot of useful talents."

Logan only sighed and rubbed his face. He couldn't age, of course, but he looked quite old right now. Tired. Marie reached out to give his fingers a squeeze.

"Hey. I'm okay."

"Kid, you---" He covered her hand and squeezed almost hard enough to hurt. "I'm just getting sick of only seeing you during major disasters."

"Well, get this asshole and maybe we can grab a chilidog after a minor disaster."

"Yeah, yeah, big talk from someone who's gonna sleep through the heavy lifting." There might've been shininess in his eyes but Marie couldn't be sure because he had leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "Rest up."

"You'll call me when you get the asshole?"

"Marie, go to sleep!"

"All right, all right!" She rolled to her side and closed her eyes, smiling.

* * *

She slept through Trask's arrest but Charlotte filled her in using glorious technicolour. 

"Whatever's on that encrypted server has the Feds, spooks and the goddamn United Nations doing the blame-him dance. Not bad for the second ever National Mutant Summit. Half the government wants to commend MacTac, the other wants to dismantle it, and every other country with a half-assed analyst put their two cents in. Timmy's gonna do a report on it for Global Studies."

"How's the captain handling it?" asked Marie.

"You know him. He's shining. You'd think he was an Oscar contender or something. FYI, if you want a raise, I'd ask for it now while you're still a hero"

"Ha. Do you think the charges'll stick?"

"The crimes against humanity stuff? Probably not. Trask's people are bargaining. If the White House protects him from international injunctions, he'll plead guilty to ties with organized crimes. Your man, Salvatorre, is a locked box though. Any ideas what'll crack him open?"

"You're not gonna get anywhere with him. He's a lifer. Worse. He's a lifer in love."

"Man, I _hate_ those."

Marie glanced at the now-empty hospital cot across her own. "I might be able to swing something though."

After a bit of begging from MacTaggert, Marie made her way to the roof. She held her arms out on either side, picking her steps around the moss pillowed between the slate shingles until she reached the far gable where Gambit sat. He tilted his head to the right but otherwise didn't acknowledge her presence.

"You're going to break your fool neck, you know that?"

"Aw, sha, I knew you cared."

She snorted. "Moira's going to kill me if I let one of her patients die after all her hard work. What the hell _are_ you doing here?"

"Taking in the view. Come on. Keep an old man company." He patted a spot on the roof at his left.

"I can keep you company just fine back here."

"Suit yourself." Gambit leaned back. "It's a good place, here. Room to run, place to swim, trees to climb... no end of mischief to get into."

"Ain't that the truth."

She did sit down because it felt a lot steadier than standing, but a foot or so away. Stretching her legs out a bit further for balance, she looked out into the northeast acres where the woods thickened. To the south, the setting sun stained the lake orange to match the turning leaves. A car pulled out of the Institute's small parking lot, circled around the driveway fountain, and headed out to the wrought iron gates meticulously free of Boston ivy. 

"So, what'll you do now?" Marie asked.

"Don't got much choice but to lie low," replied Gambit. "Got money in places the Guild don't know about. Maybe move more out before they catch on. I think I got maybe three to six months before I gotta really dance."

"Hmmm."

He turned to cock an eyebrow at her. "I was already thinking of retiring even before you mind-whammied me."

"That right?"

"I never liked the Guild's strings. It's why I let Belle take the crown."

"I've never met a retired thief," said Marie. "At least one that ain't in jail. Or dead."

"I pride myself in being one of a kind," said Gambit.

"You and all the rest of us who used to listen to indie rock." A familiar news jingle floated up from the rec room, reminding Marie of her date with the television. "I'm going downstairs to watch Trask get his head shoved up his ass. You should come watch."

"I'm flattered by your invitation, Detective."

"Don't be. I don't want the Institute wasting more money replacing your hip."

Marie didn't make it in time for the introduction but Pete kindly rewound the newscast. The others moved around the sectional to make room but she pulled a barstool up behind the loveseat instead. 

"Senator Simon Trask was taken into federal custody from his home today," said the commentator. "Senator Trask is the head of the Citizen Protect Program and one of the more controversial attendants at the Second National Mutant Summit in New York City."

"While he's in custody, I'm gonna slap him with contempt or sexual harassment on top of conspiracy against the American people, misappropriation of public funds, colluding with organized crime, and being a skeezy person," Marie said. 

"With a fake tan," Jubilee added.

"A lousy fake tan. Look at it crinkle behind his knuckles."

"Probably adds to the skeezy."

"You kidding? He skeezed me at 'hello.'"

Pete hushed them, turning the television volume up. "Although the FBI has not released official information about the arrest, speculation is rampant regarding InterPol's involvement after this video was leaked on the internet. A word of warning to our viewers: the following video clip has graphic images of nudity, torture and medical procedures."

The shot changed to handheld footage of a brilliantly sterile operating room. Young men and women lay bound and insensible on multiple tables, their nude bodies partially opened to reveal cybernetic parts. Masked medical personnel scurried around them, some holding scalpels, others wrenches. More machinery hung from the ceiling.

"As you can see, Operation: Bastion is coming along nicely. The subjects anesthetised, of course, but they are conscious in order to ensure proper neural wiring. Here's one that's ready for some demonstrations."

The camera swung to the left where a young woman stood, again nude. Matte grey rectangles patched her cheeks and upper thighs. Circular ports tracked in double rows down her chest and legs. Her forearms and shins were encased in the metal. Another strip encircled her forehead leading up to a pair of what could only be antennae on her crown. Her eyes were closed but she muttered a barely audible mix of Hindi and English.

"Turn that off, will you?" the bodiless camera man requested.

The young woman's lips pressed shut.

"Okay, let's see its paces."

From the right came the command, "Sentinel, ten paces north."

The woman walked and stopped abruptly.

"Sentinel, yellow alert. Respond."

She stretched her right arm out. The metal around her forearms telescoped around her fist, forming a canon. 

"Where does it reload?" asked the cameraman.

"Right now, we can fit six magazines in each gauntlet but there's superficial damage with full automatic. Division 4's looking into it."

"Good. Good. We need these ready soon."

"Hey, you can't rush genius."

"Jesus," Marie breathed. To her right, Pete had blanched. Only his cheeks and the tips of his fists remained pink. He jerked to his feet and walked out of the room. Marie had a feeling there would a tree somewhere in the forest beaten to firewood. "He's right. Fast forward through this."

Sam did as was asked. The talking head resumed her narrative. "The relationship between Senator Trask and this video has yet to be confirmed but prominent human rights groups such as the Global Elders have called for a full investigation into what has been called 'one of the sickest violations of human rights since the Nazi concentration camps.' The UN Council has announced the formation of a committee to investigate this so called Operation: Bastion--"

Sam changed to another news channel.

"-- our sources indicate that this video was taken from the office of Senator Trask himself. Trask's party has distanced themselves from the Citizen Protect Program, citing gross human rights violations and undue interference with international affairs."

"And I think that's the touchiest subject of all, Cathy. If Trask or CPP is connected to this-- and please remember this is all speculation at this point-- this is American funding of human experimentation--"

"Supposed American funding--"

"Yeah, yeah, but do you think they're adding 'supposed' to the news feeds outside of the States? We've just gotten back on track with international relations. Something like this is a PR disaster. I would not want to be Secretary of State right now and I'm telling you, if Madame Secretary wants to smooth things out, she's going to let Trask get nailed to the wall."

"I just don't see Washington just giving him up--"

Sam switched channels again. This news feed showed a huge protest outside CPP's headquarters. Mutants and humans hooked arms and sang protest songs.

Turning to Marie, he said quietly, "I think we won."

"I hope so," she replied. She turned around. Gambit stood leaning against the door jamb. Anyone else would think he was the picture of nonchalance but with his psyche crawling around her brain, Marie spotted the tells of his tension. A furrow high on his forehead. The last two fingers of his left hand curled in. Seeing her, he turned and walked away.

She followed him.

"He's going to get away with it," she called out.

His stride barely broke.

"The government's going to back him against the UN and Indian prosecution. It's the only solid we have right now. All his stuff about the Guild, that's circumstantial. Even if it's coming from my brain 'cause I can't tell anyone about you."

He paused but didn't turn around. "Why not?"

"I promised you I wouldn't," said Marie. "We had a deal."

"Keep a deal with a Guild member. And I thought you were a smart detective."

"Only in some cases." She stopped less than a foot behind him. His breathing was too loud, too ragged. "Help us. He's going to get away with this and that... that sick, twisted program's going to keep going. It'll keep taking poor kids from poor countries and setting them against kids in this country whose only fault is to be born with something a little extra."

Gambit shook his head, slowly at first then with the wildness of a dog shedding rain from his coat. "You ask too much of an old man gone too long flaunting the rules."

"I don't think so." Taking his hand, she pressed Charlotte's business card into his palm and folded his fingers around it. And she backed off. No need to push that feral dog too far. Besides, she had one last person to talk to.

"Sha?"

Marie looked back. Gambit had his hands in his pockets, his posture once again the picture of cockiness.

"I do this, you gonna sit in ol' Remy's lap again? Maybe watch some Baywatch reruns and eat nachos while we're at it?"

She made a face. "Pervert."

"Pig."

"Swamp rat!"

"Hick!" As she walked away, he called out, "This is a start of a beautiful friendship, Marie! Don't deny it!"

She flipped him the bird without looking back. If she did, he might see her grin.  
  


* * *

As requested, Warren met her at the front steps leading up to her apartment building. His detail stood quite inconspicuously half a block away, one reading a paper, the other staring at his watch. "I'm ready to be amazed, Detective."

"Hold your horses, Mr. Mayor." Marie knotted a light scarf around her neck then smoothed the wrinkles out of her gloves. He gallantly opened the passenger side door and she seated herself, willing her hands to stop fidgeting.

She took him to District X and Nani's café where they ordered a box of assorted pastries and coffee. Laden with treats and two large, steaming travel mugs, Warren entered Marie's apartment. "Just put everything on the table," she invited, holding the door open.

"I've got it," he said. "Nice place."

"Thanks. And thanks for coffee. For goodness sake, put it all on the table. We're going to eat them now anyway."

"I've got to admit, this is pretty... well, let's just say, I expected to have several dinners and a half dozen lunches before you even let me walk you to the door," said Warren. "I'm trying to take this as a good sign."

"I guess I wanted to get you alone. To talk," Marie blurted out, seeing Warren arch his brows. "Alone to talk. You better sit down."

"I think I know what this is about," said Warren. "I know you're having some problems controlling your powers. If you're going to scare me off about lack of physical intimacy, I want to reassure you that I'm here with absolutely no expectations and no ulterior motive. I like you, Marie. I don't know much about you but what I do know, I'm quite frankly blown away by. I'm not looking for a commitment but neither am I looking for a fling. I'm just here, in the moment, to be with you."

Marie swirled her coffee with a cookie. He had to go on being a great guy and make this even harder than ever. "That's... That's really... Thanks."

He leaned forward, obviously expecting more of a reaction. "Okay. Why do I get the feeling that I've stuck my foot ankle-deep in my mouth?"

"No, no, it's not... That's not what I was going to talk about. I mean, it's nice of you and all but I was really going to... Crap." Taking a deep breath, she started again. "I got to thinking about who would benefit the most from Trask's arrest. Heck, from his death."

"Besides all of mutantkind?"

"Yeah. And also, who'd know all that stuff about Novomane and its components. Who has the most at stake." She pulled the cookie out. A small chunk, the tip, fell back into her cup. "It's you, Warren."

Warren furrowed his brow, adorably confused. He slid his cup around and around between his two hands. "What are you talking about?"

"For all that you and your dad disagree on mutant politics, you're still close. You always have been; yet another reason why you're a golden boy. Your dad probably told you the real reason he asked for his former best friend's resignation. He'd been skimming some of the products for personal projects, maybe even some actual cash. You knew he was part of the Worthington Avent-Smythe's weaponised Novomane plans, even way back when you first met the X-Men. But it didn't stop at the Cure cartridges. Is there any truth to the super soldier programs in the Forties, Warren? Did Trask get all those plans from your granddaddy back in the day? Maybe ziff is only a couple grams of crack away from the Operation: Bastion shit they pumped into those street people. But who cares, right? They're not Americans."

He met her eyes with a sad sort of smile, his hands cupped around his mug. "Yes, I know my dad's company has some sketchy military contracts. I told you about them. It's only one of the many reasons I don't want any part of it."

"Did you hire the hit on Trask before or after you went to bed with the Guild?"

He stilled. "What?"

"I should've known as soon as you mentioned them that something was up," said Marie. "You knew too much about the Guild. They're a cop's fairytale."

"And I told you, I got the information from Boston PD."

"No. You couldn't have." She took a sip of coffee for strength. "We keep that story close. Tight. So the rookies don't hear about it. It's not just a hazing ritual, it's a way to gauge ability. You don't give away the answer sheet to the exam. So, what the hell, Warren?"

"What the hell's with me? What the hell's with _you_? Why are you accusing me of these blatantly untrue, albeit incredibly imaginative, crimes?"

"I may not have hard evidence but there's enough circumstantial for me to go to my superior and start a case file. Posterboys fall fast and hard, remember? I'm not happy about this; I don't find joy in dragging people through the mud, not even when they deserve a good kick in the gut. I just want to know why, Warren. You've got so much going for you; why did you do this?" Her voices almost broke at the last sentence but Marie held Warren's gaze.

His stoicism didn't last as long as she anticipated. After a few seconds, he looked away; the fingers in his left hand trembled. "Do you know what was supposed to come after the Cure guns? Something called Operation: Zero Tolerance. Federally sanctioned gene therapy for all pregnancies that tested positive for the X-factor. They were going for abortion but it wouldn't make money and is a pretty hard sell for the pro-life contingent. Mandatory Novomane shots for all children who test positive later in life. And after that, mandatory sterilisation for all mutants. Bastion was considered less drastic."

Marie didn't respond to the comparison. Red-washed visions of concentration camps flashed through her mind; she boxed it up like Emma taught her. "And that's why you chose to side with a mutant-friendly mafia instead."

"I didn't call a hit on anyone! They already--" He bit the sentence short, flinching away. He looked so overwhelmed and for half a moment, Marie wanted to take his hand to comfort him. Then she remembered Angelo and Julio, nearly dead from ziff, and the resurging mutters against mutants because of the drug.

"They already had a hit on Trask," she finished for him. "They just wanted more information from you and your agreement to back off when they moved into Boston."

"Trask was the one giving them the rejected beta-samples of Novomane. Dad found out-- not that he was dealing with the Guild but that he'd been lifting products and falsifying records about it-- and told him to retire. I bet at least half of Trask's political start-up was from Guild deals. He's been destroying the mutant community from three fronts-- CPP for the picket fences, ziff for the streets and funding for Operation: Bastion. I didn't do anything to him that he didn't bring on himself."

"You didn't do anything to stop the Guild either, Warren. That's the problem. You have pull economically through your dad, politically through Xavier's and your job, and socially thanks to entertainment media. You could've used-- you _do_ use all of that to help mutants and baselines. Except now you also tug strings so organized crime can cement their power. I bet they approached you, stroked your ideals and your ego--"

"You think my ego--" Warren snapped his mouth closed around the rest of the sentence. "I didn't do this lightly. I'm not going to be their puppet. I know it's not ideal but from the inside, I can manipulate their decisions--"

Marie half-rose from her hair. "Did you see what happened to Trask? You don't play with the Guild! Gambit's been in my head long enough for me to know that you'll never escape them. You'll be indebted for the rest of your life which might not be that long if they find out you're using them."

"They won't kill me. I'm too useful."

"No-one's irreplaceable. And something this dirty... this'll kill your career as good as it killed Trask's. Hell, worse! And it's wrong. It's so wrong."

Warren shrugged, his shoulders slumping. "I know. So, are you going to arrest me?"

Marie weighed the cuffs in her belt, warm from the heat of her body. She'd have to restrain his wings, too, maybe with the nylon rope in another pocket. If he tried to escape, she could always taser him. If he fell from a good height, he'd break a limb; he might even fracture one of his wings.

If he fell, the whole world would pounce on the mutant population. The Citizen Protect Program would gain support, slashing mutant rights right back down to zero. All those kids in Massachusetts Academy, heck, the ones she met every day on her beat starved for a life outside the ghetto, would lose another role model. Life wasn't anywhere near perfect right now but it was better than her childhood.

"Quit."

Warren swallowed audibly. "What?"

"Quit as mayor and I won't arrest you."

"But--"

"You say you're doing this for all mutants everywhere," she said. "Prove it. Take your power out of the equation."

"My power, as you call it, is what's going to help keep the Guild at bay."

"You don't need to be a mayor to do that. Work at Xavier's. Work at Worthington Avent-Smythe. Be a goddamn socialite, I don't fucking care just don't-- don't do that to us."

Chin dipped to touch his chest, Warren said, "I've already put a few things in motion. I can... can I just finish my term? I won't run for public office again."

"Fine." She stood up and took the five steps to her front door. By the time she opened all three locks, Warren stood behind her.

"You understand, don't you? Why I felt like I had to do this?"

She did. She honestly did. An unfair world often required grey-tinged decisions and God knew she'd made more than her share. "Good-bye, Warren."

"Good-bye, Rogue." As he walked away, his wings both touched the ceiling and trailed on the floor. She watched him wait for the elevator; he had his head tilted back and his eyes closed, his shoulders bowed under the tailored shirt and his hands in his pockets. Under the cloth, his fists clenched and opened. Only when the elevator closed did she close her door, too.

Her apartment was a mess. Marie pulled the curtains open. With overcast skies, the weak light touched a stack of books, the couch, her badge, three empties on the kitchen counter, and her old opera gloves. She gathered the gloves into a ball to start cleaning up but noises from the street drew her attention. She leaned out the window.

The neighbourhood kids had picked up a game of tag. High-pitched cheers raced up and down the road. Off to one side, a girl pulled on her friend's scaly hand. He shook his head violently; Marie didn't need to read lips to understand why a runt with spikes instead of hair and one over-sized hand wouldn't want to play with normal looking humans. As the whole mob of kids descended on the pair, she got ready to yell at them from her window. But they actually pulled the little mutant boy into the game. His friend was tagged It and the boy ran off with his new-found friends, shrieking with glee.

Marie leaned against her window and watched, her gloves forgotten.


End file.
